


Evolution

by lalejandra



Category: Everwood
Genre: Coming Out, First Love, High School, M/M, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-16
Updated: 2003-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra
Summary: Bright likes to stare at Ephram, because Ephram has the palest skin Bright has ever seen.  Plus, Ephram is compelling. He's not attractive, or cute, or even hot, not the way Bright is. But there is something about that weird nose and red mouth and the eyes that are always telegraphing things no one in Everwood quite understands.  Especially Bright.





	Evolution

Bright likes to stare at Ephram, because Ephram has the palest skin Bright has ever seen. Plus, Ephram is compelling. He's not attractive, or cute, or even hot, not the way Bright is. But there is something about that weird nose and red mouth and the eyes that are always telegraphing things no one in Everwood quite understands. Especially Bright.

Bright therefore makes sure that whenever he indulges himself in examining Ephram he's always around some people. Friends -- or not. It doesn't matter. As long as there's someone for Bright to turn to when Ephram catches him staring (because he always does), so that Bright can make a mean comment about "that faggy Brown kid" and everyone around Bright can laugh.

Because what if Ephram caught him staring when there wasn't someone to unwittingly cover for him? Their eyes would meet and there wouldn't be a reason for Bright to look away -- and Ephram would probably get the wrong idea. Which Bright didn't want to think about -- not even peripherally, not even for one second, not even in the dead of night when it's so dark and he's laying on his bed not quite seeing the ceiling. Not even then.

Bright likes to tell himself that he doesn't even know quite what the wrong idea is exactly, but that he's sure that if there is a wrong idea, Ephram Brown will latch onto it and never let it go.

Better to make sure that there isn't a wrong idea to get, or an opportunity to get it. Bright will stare, watch Ephram's stiffly gelled hair stay perfectly still despite a breeze, chew on the inside of his bottom lip as he reads one of those geek ass comic books, knaw on a pen cap with sharp white teeth, stretch during a class just far enough that his T-shirt rucks up and displays an inch or two of pale, pale skin with just a little bit of coarse black hair.

Better that when Ephram looks up and meets Bright's eyes from across the room, like if he was a chick they'd be in one of those sappy romance movies Amy and his mom liked, Bright will absolutely not say to the person next to him "I wonder if Ephram Brown's stomach is as soft as Gemma's." He will also not say, "I bet Ephram Brown gives great head. Look at that fucking mouth." And he definitely will not say, choking a bit on his own breath, "Those.... fingers." When did Bright start caring about anyone's fucking fingers?

Bright will say something expected and cruel, and whoever he said it to will laugh, and Bright will flip Ephram the finger when Ephram rolls his eyes and Bright won't think about the way his old, faded T-shirt clings to that stupid scrawny body of his and hangs off his skinny arms -- and Bright certainly won't think about him in the middle of the night or in the shower. And maybe the next time Bright sees Amy talking to him, Bright will go over and shove Ephram and pick and fight and touch that red mouth with his fist. Or maybe the next time Bright sees him walking home from school or riding that stupid city bicycle, he'll pull the pickup over and offer Ephram a ride. Maybe.

Because maybe if he did that, Ephram would toss his bike into the bed of the truck and slide into the front next to Bright, and his jeans would hang just right off his waist, and his stomach would bunch up a little and he'd look over at Bright and say, "What is this, your mitzvah for the week?" and Bright would say, "Don't use your stupid Jewish words on me, dude." And Ephram would say, in that really dry voice, "It's just a good deed. One that you do even though you don't want to because it makes god happy." And Bright would say, "Do you know what would make god happy? If you got your skinny ass naked and let me fuck you."

But that would never happen because Bright would never think about that sort of thing. He would never give Ephram the wrong idea. Not even if he wanted to more than he wanted anything else in the entire world. Not even if he wanted to more than he wanted Colin to be alive again.

  
  
Chapter 2: Mitzvah  


Bright Abbott is going to beat the shit out of Ephram Brown.And when someone -- anyone -- asks him why, he'll choose one of the many good reasons. Ephram came to Everwood with his stupid father, and changed Amy. Then he changed Colin. Then his dad killed Colin -- well, not really, but it sounds like the sort of stupid, not logical explanation people would accept from Not-Too-Bright Abbott.

Bright is not going to tell anyone that he beat up Ephram because Ephram turned him gay.

For one thing, nobody would believe it. Bright Abbott, thinking about some other guy's cock? Never would happen! Bright Abbott, wanting to bite the ear of a dude? You're making things up! Bright Abbott, wanting to hang around with dorky Ephram Brown and watch him read comic books? Unbelievable!

Except it was all true. And lately Bright has been struck by a desire so inexplicable and irritating that he's been debating giving in to it, because he can. Because nobody would believe that he was, so he could get away with it.

Bright wants to watch Ephram play the piano.

He could give a shit about dead white men and the music they made, but he has this picture in his mind of Ephram leaning over the piano keys, fingers moving feverishly, eyes closed or open or both...

Bright wants to know what Ephram looks like when he gets lost inside his talent. His thought was actually, "What does Ephram look like when he's lost inside the music?" but that sounded too faggy, so he amended it to something that still sounded gay, but less gay, and added "Fucking with my head" to his list of Really Good Reasons To Beat Ephram Brown's Ass Into The Ground (And Then Maybe Do Perverted Things To It That Bright Doesn't Even Know About And Anyone Who Says He Does Is Lying).

And there Ephram is now, riding his stupid city bicycle. Bright thinks for a quick minute, then pulls the truck over. "Hey, Brown," he calls. "Need a ride?"

Ephram brakes the bike and looks over at him. "What, this your mitzvah for the day?"

"Something like that, dude." Bright jerks his head to the bed of the pickup. "Go ahead, put your bike in."

Ephram heaves his bike over the side, and Bright winces at the clatter. Even if it is a shitty bike, no reason not to take care of it. He watches in the side mirror as Ephram pulls his sleeves down over his bony wrists and pulls open the door.

"I bet you don't even know what a mitzvah is," mutters Ephram as he slides into the seat. His jeans are a little too loose, and they hang down, and as Bright puts the truck back into gear, he notices that Ephram's stomach bunches just right when he slouches.

"It's an act of charity you do because god wants you to, not because you want to. It means even more points with the big guy if you absolutely do not want to do it and you do it anyway and you don't tell anyone." Bright smirked at Ephram. "I know some stuff." He ruins the moment by remembering his fantasy, of telling Ephram that his mitzvah for the day could be giving Bright a blowjob, and his fingers clench convulsively on the steering wheel.

"Well, I'm shocked. Dismayed even. Here I was thinking you were just a dumb jock, but it turns out you're a dumb jock who can speak Hebrew." Ephram flashed a grin and Bright couldn't help returning it. "But really. Hey. Thanks for driving me. It's getting cold out there."

"Here--" Bright reached out and turned the heat up a bit. "You can make it higher if you want to."

"This is a whole day of new experiences. Bright Abbott letting someone else play with his toys?"

"Just keep your hands off my radio and remote control and it'll all be fine." Bright glanced over at him again and smiled. He slowed down as he pulled into the Browns' driveway, and turned off the car.

"Uh..." Ephram watched him warily. "Want to come in? We have microwave brownies."

"Sure." Bright slid out of the truck faster than Ephram and hauled the bike out of the back. Watch my manly skills! he thought, as Ephram came around the other side. See how I don't even have to strain! I am big! I am strong! I am sex on two legs!

"Uh, Bright?" Ephram was watching him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I was just distracted." He handed the bike over to Ephram, mentally kicking himself. You don't treat guys the same way you treat girls. It's different. And anyway, Ephram was way into Amy, even though she couldn't stand to be around him since Colin -- well, anyway, it wasn't like Ephram was standing over there thinking about Bright's sexy pecs and biceps. Which Ephram couldn't even see anyway, since Bright was wearing a sweatshirt.

Bright followed Ephram into the house, and absolutely did not watch the way Ephram's too-loose jeans hung on his hips and creased under his butt. And anyone who said he did was lying.

  
  
Chapter 3: Fiercely  


They ate the microwave brownies silently. Bright wasn't sure what they would talk about anyway. He didn't know anything about comic books and Ephram didn't know anything about basketball, and they didn't even like each other. Delia was cute, talking about her day at school and how dumb all the other kids in her class were, but the baby-sitter was fucking annoying, reminding Ephram to take out the trash and do his homework, like she was in charge of him or something.

"You know," Bright finally said to her around a mouthful of brownie, "you are really annoying."

Ephram snorted, then choked on the sip of milk he'd just taken. The baby-sitter just smiled, which pissed Bright off even more. He drained his milk and glowered, and Delia giggled. Ephram looked from him to the baby-sitter and grabbed the brownies.

"We're going--"

"To the piano," Bright interrupted. "After all, Ephram, you have to practice and keep up your skills."

Ephram had a weird look on his face, but started out of the kitchen. Bright followed after he deposited their empty glasses into the sink, but not before he realized the baby-sitter looked pleased and grateful. "We are not a team," he told her before he exited.

"What the fuck?" asked Ephram under his breath.

"Dude," replied Bright equally lowly. "Just play for twenty minutes to get her off our backs, and then we can go watch TV or something."

Ephram shrugged. "Fine. But when you get bored, remember this was your idea."

"Don't worry about it. Because this was actually my cunning plan to get the rest of the brownies."

Bright stood behind Ephram, chewing as silently as he could. Ephram began to play, after cracking his knuckles and rolling his head around. And Bright was...

Bright was disappointed. The reverent way everyone spoke of Ephram's talent -- even Bright's own father, who begrudged the Browns everything -- had Bright expecting... something. The earth to shake. Choirs of angels to sing in heavenly chorus. Mary Poppins to fly down the chimney, the Laker Girls in all their late-80s glory led by Paula Abdul, who wasn't wearing any panties. Or, at least, Ephram to look different. Hotter, maybe, or less dorky. Whichever.

Instead, it was just music. Piano music. No guitars, no drums, no words.

Bright sighed impatiently, and Ephram stopped playing. "Dude," he said, and Bright got the idea he was being mocked. "You've got to sit down. You can't loom over me like that."

"Where?"

"Well, you can sit here next to me and we can cuddle," replied Ephram sarcastically. Bright's jaw dropped. "Or you can go sit on a chair over there, doofus."

Bright swallowed hard and crossed the room, still clutching the empty brownie tray. Ephram shook his head and began again.

Oh.

That's it. Sometimes he closed his eyes. Other moments he kept them open and stared fiercely at the sheet music.

He never looked at Amy like that, Bright thought absurdly.

Then: I wish I could see his hands.

And Bright realized that this feeling was what teachers and guidance counselors and his parents had all tried to explain to him -- when he finally realized what he wanted to do with his life, he'd know. And this was it.

For the rest of his life, Bright Abbott wanted to do Ephram Brown.

His next thought was: Shit. I have to get out of here.

The next half hour dragged on endlessly, but passed far too quickly.

"Dude," Bright said as soon as Ephram's fingers lifted from the keys for the final time. "I forgot that I promised my mom I'd pick up some dinner stuff."

Ephram just raised his eyebrows.

"That was cool, though," Bright added, and frantically searched his mind for something else to say. Something not too gay, but... nice. Like, a compliment or something. "Uh. It's like. You're. You know. Inside the music or something."

Ephram's eyebrows went even higher.

"So. Uh. I am. Leaving."

On his way out, Bright remembered to throw out the mangled-beyond-recognition brownie try, tousle Delia's hair, and glare at the baby-sitter, who only smiled back at him. He slammed the door as hard as he could.

#

That night Bright stared into the bathroom mirror. Am I gay? he wondered. I don't feel gay. I don't look gay. I play basketball. I hate dorks. I had a male best friend for my whole life, and Colin wasn't gay. Was he? He did spend a lot of time with Ephram. Ephram isn't gay, but he looks it. No, he doesn't. He's just a dork. Dork doesn't equal gay. Therefore jock doesn't equal not gay. Bad equation. Don't gay people look like that jack guy on TV or Elton John? I wish Colin was here. He'd probably know because I bet Lainey is gay. Or bi, at least.

Bright spared a moment from his contemplation to imagine Laynie with all her clothes off, wrestling with another naked girl. Then the naked girl turned into Amy and Bright thought his brain would explode.

Oh, shit. What if Amy is gay? What if Amy and Laynie are gay together? No. No. Not possible. Also, gross. Mental note: No more thinking about anyone having sex with Amy. Ever. Except Colin. Also gross.

But if Colin was gay and Ephram was gay and that was why they had spent so much time together, why would either of them kiss Amy? And Bright knew they both had. But what if they didn't like kissing Amy and they were just doing it so people would think they were normal? Well, Ephram could never be normal, but what about Colin? Before he died he was all talking about how no one understood the real him -- what if that was what he meant?

And if they weren't enjoying kissing Amy, who was? Not Laynie, because she had been kissing Ephram. At least once that Bright knew of, maybe more that he didn't. Bright wouldn't mind kissing Laynie. He bet she knew all sorts of tricks from those rich private school bitches.

Bright wouldn't mind kissing Ephram either. But Colin... Not so hot there. Just friends. Colin had been, even after waking up, a little too muscular and a little too wide-eyed. And his mouth wasn't thin and red. And his wrists weren't bony.

Bright groaned. Maybe he wasn't gay after all? If the only boy he wanted to kiss was Ephram, maybe when Ephram went back to New York for college, this would all go away and Bright could go back to safely chasing girls and Amy could go back to pining away for Colin and making out with Laynie, and Bright could just gouge out his eyes.

He banged his head into the wall rhythmically. Do not think about Amy and Laynie. Do not think about Ephram and Colin. Ephram is not gay. Colin was not gay. I am not gay. I am not gay.

"Bright?" called Amy. "I need the bathroom and Dad says it sounds like you're breaking something."

Bright jerked open the bathroom dooer and snarled at her. She took a step back. "If you are making out with Laynie," he bellowed, "I don't want to fucking know about it!"

He shouldered past Amy and stormed down the hall.

"Yeah?" she yelled after him. "Well, if you were making out with Colin, I don't want to know either!"

She slammed the bathroom door and he slammed his bedroom door, and when one of his parents knocked on it a few minutes later, he turned his music up and buried his head under his pillows.

  
  
Chapter 4: Cheered  


Bright Abbott was not having a good day. It had barely started, but he already knew it wasn't good.

He'd stayed up late the night before -- not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't fall asleep. So he was late waking up and having his dad come upstairs and stand over his was bad enough, but his morning wood was worse (Better? More impressive?) than usual, since once Bright had finally stopped thinking about Ephram and Colin and Amy and their ridiculous love triangle, he fell asleep and dreamed about Ephram. A long, involved, complicated dream about Ephram that his father woke him in the middle of, awkwardly, joking about cheerleaders.

Well, Bright thought, almost wryly, Ephram had been cheering. Or, you know. Something.

Bright didn't even know that he knew about that sort of thing. And if anyone asked him if he did, he'd have said no -- and if anyone had said he did, he would have said they were lying. And possibly pounded their ass into the ground (without doing to it all the things he wanted to do to Ephram's ass that he would deny if asked about under oath).

One of the things Bright learned, though, from girls, was that they rarely looked the same outside their clothing as they did inside. Some of the girls looked really shitty inside their clothing -- maybe they weren't wearing the right colors or the right, you know, styles or something. But when they stripped, they were gorgeous.And then there were the girls who always looked well put together, immaculate. They were skinny and looked just the way everyone said girls were supposed to, but... But when they took off their clothes, they had no hips and no thighs and no flesh anywhere except their breasts, and sometimes not even there.

Bright wasn't sure what that had to do with Ephram, since Ephram clearly didn't have breasts or thighs or hips, but he knew what boys looked like naked and it was rarely what they looked like inside their clothes, and the boys who didn't look naked like what they looked like inside their clothes were usually uglier.

Bright himself didn't have that problem. Before he put his shirt on, he admired himself in his mirror. Not a lot of chest hair, but he wasn't bare like a Versace model either. Nicely defined pecs and abs, great arms, muscular shoulders.

"You, Bright Abbott, are one handsome fellow." He blew himself a kiss and pulled his shirt on, and went down to grab some toast, cheered.

  
  
Chapter 5: Anger  


Bright was angry. He wasn't really used to feeling this way -- he couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. Even after the accident, he was kind of pissed off, but more sad than anything. He just threw himself into his sports, more than usual, and tried to ignore the world around him. When Colin woke up, he could relax, start taking deep breaths again, and for a while the fog lifted, then dropped back -- but it ended. Colin died, there was no stasis. There was actually something to get over.

That was... not this.

This was boiling anger that he just couldn't pin down. He didn't even want to think about it, because it was almost... scary. It was weird. He was angry with himself all the fucking time now. Looking at apples, when his mother made brownies, when Ephram sauntered over to Amy's new Kia and then watched her as he and Bright drove away. He didn't much care that Amy actually got a new Kia, although he gave her shit for it, because Kias were kind of ugly, and his truck was much cooler and got better gas mileage anyway, but now Amy and Ephram could drive around and do whatever they wanted. Whenever they wanted. Wherever they wanted, like in the spacious backseat.

But Bright would be a bad big brother to try to steal his sister's boyfriend. And he figured he'd already been a bad enough older brother, so he forced himself to struggle through a conversation with Amy, giving her permission to get over Colin and move on -- to Ephram. Because Ephram was a cool guy who told funny stories and was simultaneously weird and dorky and really really cool. Cool in the way that only someone who knew what he liked and wasn't afraid to be himself was cool.

Cool the way Bright was cool.

Watching Amy dance with Ephram at the reverend's wedding -- while he danced with Ephram's sister -- was just too much. When Amy wrapped her arms around Ephram, he let Delia go to the babysitter, whose name he still didn't know, and picked up the flower girl to twirl around to get the image out of his mind.

It wasn't fair. Amy shit all over Ephram all the time and Ephram just took it. Oh, Bright was good enough to drive him home every day, but not good enough to just go out and get a chocolate milkshake with. Which was okay, because Bright's favorite was banana, but that wasn't the point.

He didn't want to admit it, but Bright knew it was time to come to terms with the truth. Bright wanted to be the one Ephram watched longingly across the room and Bright wanted to be the one Ephram danced with at weddings and Bright wanted to be the one taking shit at school for hanging out with a dork -- except the more Bright hung out with Ephram, the cooler everyone else thought Ephram was and the less Amy was teased.

But Ephram continued to accept Bright's offers of rides home from school instead of Amy's, and that had to mean something, right? Other than that Amy's car just wasn't made for holding Schwinns in the backseat and she still didn't have a bike rack. Maybe it didn't mean that Ephram was interested in Bright, but it wasn't like Bright was interested in Ephram anyway. Not like that, except for late at night, when it was so dark Bright could barely see the ceiling, and sometimes early in the morning in the shower.

And sometimes Ephram even invited Bright in to watch TV or eat brownies or work on English papers. And that had to mean something -- and anyone who said it didn't was a liar.

  
  
Chapter 6: Queer  


"Hey, Abbott."

"Hey, Brown."

"Hey. Abbott."

Bright turned from glaring into his locker to glaring down at Ephram -- not because Ephram's voice was angry, but because Ephram had shoved him. Ephram's puny little arms were no match for Bright's entire body, well conditioned from years of sports, but Bright's head still hit the top of his locker, which pissed him off.

The hallway quieted. As someone who had been involved in and witnessed many fights, Bright knew it was the silence of anticipation, and Bright was not going to indulge them. Never mind that Bright had stopped talking to witness more than a few fights in his academic -- hah -- career.

"Hey. Brown." Bright folded his arms. "Did you want something, other than my autograph?" He kept a calm look on his face, and it took only moments for the din to resume its normal levels.

"Yeah. I want to know what the fuck you said to Madison last night when you left." Ephram didn't look angry; he only sounded angry. He looked... Upset. Cranky. Like he usually did, with his eyebrows pulled together and his eyes confused.

"Madison?"

"Delia's baby-sitter."

"I didn't say anything to the baby-sitter. Why would I?"

"Because! Because she--" Ephram cut himself off. "We can't talk about this here."

"Bright?" Amy stood behind Ephram, watching Bright. No, watching off to Bright's side -- watching Laynie watch Bright. Okay, he could handle this. It was like his worst nightmare, all of his fears come true, but he could handle it. After all, he wasn't wearing a dress and platform heels yet.

"Ephram, we'll finish this at lunch. Amy, what do you want?"

"I need to talk --"

"We need to talk to you," Laynie interrupted firmly.

Bright closed his eyes and groaned.

#

Bright's dark mood from the morning had lifted. Amy and Laynie didn't want him to fly to Hawaii or Vermont with them and stand up at their lesbian wedding, and they didn't want to gently break the news that Ephram and Colin had been lovers, so Bright was barking up the wrong tree. No, they just wanted to tell him that Laynie had found some of Bright's stuff while going through Colin's things. A shirt, some magazines, the birthday card he'd made for Colin in kindergarten... Laynie had brought it all to school, Bright shoved it into his locker and went to class, and that was that.

He whistled his way through the lunch line and found Ephram in his usual spot -- alone. "So what's up with your baby-sitter, Brown?" Bright considered Ephram's tray, then his own, and swapped his apple for Ephram's brownie.

"I wanted that, Abbott."

"Me, too. I'm stronger, I win." Bright shrugged, reconsidered, and broke the brownie in half. "Here," he said generously. "We'll share."

"Are you a zombie?"

"Are you a dork?"

"Fuck you."

"Play nice," Bright warned. "You wanted to talk to me, don't forget."

"Yeah, and you wanted to play video games with me yesterday, so I think we're even."

"If you don't tell me what you want, I am going to go find some cheerleaders to sit on my lap and leave the realm of geek over which you are king."

"You get wittier every day." Ephram shook his head and crunched into the apple. "We do need to talk about something, though. I think we have a problem."

"We? No. There is no we. We do not have a problem. Maybe you have a problem that you need me to solve, but --"

"Last night my father cornered me and told me that if I was sleeping with you, he wanted to know about it so that he could make sure we were using the proper protection."

Bright choked on his bite of brownie.

"According to my father, the baby-sitter told him that she didn't care if I was gay, but that considering how we are in a small Colorado town, she needed to know how to handle it if Delia were to start asking questions. Also," Ephram continued around another bite of apple, "she wanted to know what his position on gay rights was."

"I. Uh."

"He said she said it was clear just from looking at us that we had a -- and I quote -- 'special relationship'." Ephram scowled and dropped the apple. "Well. Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

Play it cool, Abbott, Bright reminded himself. "Obviously she noticed that you couldn't control your overwhelming attraction to my godlike body."

"Oh, of course, why didn't I think of that?" asked Ephram sarcastically.

"Because you were embarrassed that all this time you'd been chasing the wrong Abbott child?" Bright suggested.

"Let me put this a different way, Bright." Ephram paused, and then spoke very slowly. "Despite what my dad thinks, when he puts Delia to bed and turns out her light, she doesn't go to sleep. She stays awake, thinking of ways to make mischief, and make my life hellish. She's cute, but annoying, and likes to listen at doors."

Bright was suddenly very afraid.

"Do you know what this means?" Ephram demanded.

"It sounds like it means that by the end of the day, everyone is going to know that you're my bitch."

"I realize this doesn't matter to you. Even though you're not on any of the teams anymore, you're still a jock, and the mayor's son. Everyone still blames my father for killing --"

"People with brains don't think that."

"Yeah, but people with brains don't try to kill gay people either, and yet somehow that happens in Colorado. Oh, and people with brains don't go to school packing rifles and kill everyone, but that happens in Colorado too. So forgive me if I really don't have any faith in your fellow citizens to not kill me, mutilate my corpse, and run my family out of town."

"Hey." Bright's voice was sharp, lunch forgotten. "Have you forgotten that my grandmother married a black man? That my mother is the mayor -- a female mayor? That nobody has tried to run your dad out of town yet, and that even when you were spending all that time with Colin, nobody believed the rumors that you two were dating? Have you forgotten that this is all your fault?"

"All my fault?" Ephram pushed his tray away. "Since I am not in love with you and there is therefore nothing for anyone to see on my face, it must be you. And you're acting weird anyway, wanting to hear me play --"

"Watch you play," Bright corrected automatically.

"Watch me -- what?"

"Watch you play piano. I did. I hadn't ever and I thought it would be interesting."

"Interesting."

"Yeah."

"You must be in love with me. Or you must be my grandma."

"No."

"Nobody thinks watching someone else play piano is interesting, unless you're a Jewish grandmother, or a twelve year old girl talking about Tori Amos."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"You're in the closet!"

"Shh!"

Ephram lowered his voice. "You're in the closet, Abbott. Admit it. You're gay!"

"I'm not gay!"

"You are!"

Bright stood up, knocking back his chair. "I am not a fucking queer!" he yelled. The lunch room quieted, much the way the hallway had done earlier.

Ephram looked up at him, bemusement coupled with annoyance clear on his face, in his eyes, red mouth pursed. Bright grabbed his knapsack and stalked away.

  
  
Chapter 7: Decisions  


Bright wiped sweaty palms on his jeans and rang the Browns' doorbell. He knew what he was going to say when Ephram answered. He was going to say, "Listen. I'm sorry. I need to talk to you." And Ephram would invite him in, and they would make microwave brownies and go up to Ephram's room. Bright would sprawl on the bed and surreptitiously sniff Ephram's sheets and pillows, and Ephram would lounge against a pile of dirty laundry and stare at the ceiling, and playing in the background would be some obscure band Bright had really never heard of, and Ephram would mouth the words.

And Bright would say, "I am really sorry."

And Ephram would say, "It's okay. I understand."

And Bright would say, "Let's make out."

And Ephram would say, "I've been wondering when you'd finally make a move."

And Bright would say, "Well, I wasn't sure if you liked the dominating type. I wasn't sure if I am the dominating type."

And Ephram would say, "I like whatever type you are."

And then they would turn into fourteen year old girls and kiss and giggle.

Bright cringed as the door opened.

"Oh! Bright Abbott!" Dr. Brown's bearded face stared at Bright. "Hi."

"Hi, Dr. Brown. Is Ephram around?" Bright stuck his hands in his pockets so that Dr. Brown wouldn't try to shake one of them. They were both still damp and sweating and trembling.

"He's up in his room. But before you go up there, I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind?"

Dr. Brown took Bright into the piano room, and sat him down. Bright resisted the urge to point out that Dr. Brown wasn't his father, because Dr. Brown was Ephram's father. And he probably wanted to warn Bright off his son, because who wanted their son to be gay? Nobody, that's who. Well, Bright's dad didn't. And it would probably hurt his mother's chance for re-election -- not that being a woman had stopped her, so maybe this wouldn't either. But having a gay, or sort-of-gay, or not-gay-at-all-but-boy-liking-maybe-kind-of-but-only-a-little-and-only-Ephram son was different than just having boobs.

Dr. Brown crossed his arms and stared at Bright. "I know that you and my son have, against all odds, become friends. I know that you defend him when people pick on him, and I know that you've encouraged your sister to date him. However, I also know about the scene in the cafeteria today. And -- "

"That's why I'm here, sir. To apologize," Bright said quickly.

"Well, good. But that's not what I'm worried about. I don't care about your sexuality -- or Ephram's sexuality. I care about Ephram's happiness and well-being. If he's gay, or bisexual, or straight, I don't care. I only want him to be safe and happy and live his life in a fulfilling way." Dr. Brown stopped to stare meaningfully at Bright, who wasn't sure what he was supposed to do at this point. Nod? Smile? Agree?

"Sir... I don't think all parents feel that way."

"If you were a parent, wouldn't you feel that way?"

"Yes, sir. I think so. I'd like to think so anyway. I'd like to think that my kids would know they could do their own thing and I wouldn't try to make them do only what I wanted all the time."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"So you understand when I tell you that if you plan on continuing your friendship with Ephram, you have to respect him. His choices. You can't run hot and cold. You have to decide how you feel about an issue and stick to it, no matter how tough it gets. And I know that you have that kind of fortitude. Anyone else would have used their best friend nearly dying, coming back to life, and then really dying as an excuse for their poor grades -- but you didn't. You made choices and accepted the consequences, and now you're working to rectify your mistakes. That's very admirable. But you have to have that integrity in all parts of your life." Dr. Brown stopped again, stared again. Bright just nodded this time.

"I trust Ephram to be honest with you about his life and his choices. I'm not saying that my son is gay or straight, because it's really, ultimately, none of my business. And I can't tell you how hard it is to say something like that, because everything to do with Ephram is both always and never my business. He's almost an adult -- although you can't tell him I said that." Dr. Brown smiled briefly, then continued. "I trust that you won't abuse my trust or his, no matter what?"

Bright swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. Um. I've never done this before, but is this the part where I ask for permission to. Um. To -- "

"Date my son?" Dr. Brown's eyes crinkled as Bright tried not to panic, and Bright noticed absurdly that when Dr. Brown was amused, he looked kind of like Ephram might in thirty years. Hopefully without the loser beard.

"I -- I don't -- date -- um."

"Bright, nobody can make your decisions for you. But like I said, you're a man of integrity and self-honesty. A lot of people in this town underestimate you -- including your own family sometimes."

"My aunt said the same thing this afternoon."

"Linda is a very smart woman."

"Yeah, she's pretty amazing." Bright bit his lip. "She also said that you were smart, too. You're not -- "

"Linda and me? No. But I think we're becoming good friends. Now... I know you'll do the right thing, as soon as you figure out what that is," Dr. Brown said kindly. "Go ahead. Ephram's got his headphones on, so knock loudly."

"Thank you, Dr. Brown." Bright stood up.

It was easy, really, once he decided to make a decision. He figured it this way: He might as well do what was scary, because otherwise he'd be afraid forever, and avoid a lot of things that he might have otherwise tried, in a different time and place. It was like the English essay Ephram helped him with a few days ago, on context. Bright didn't get it until Ephram explained it in a really simple way: Everything has its time, everything has its place, and when something is taken out of its time and place, it suddenly doesn't make sense anymore -- or it means something different. And just because it means something different doesn't mean it's necessarily bad or good. It's just different.

Bright considered the situation, and realized it was kind of like seeing an opening, dribbling down the court, and doing the perfect shoot and swish, nothing but net. Or grabbing that football and running like hell through the opposition, and making it over the line before being tackled. When you can do it -- or even when it looks like you might have a slim chance -- you have to do it, take that chance, go for it. Otherwise you're on the bench the whole season, doing nothing.

Maybe the sports metaphors were getting a little outrageous. Bright grinned, then held out his hand, and after a moment, Dr. Brown shook it.

#

When Bright got upstairs, after catching and kissing Delia, who hurled herself down the stairs and into his arms, Ephram was lying on his bed, headphones on, knees tucked up. He was facing away from the door, and Bright had to clear his throat a few times, and finally yell Ephram's name.

Ephram pulled his headphones down around his neck and rolled over just enough to see Bright. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk to you, dude. To say that I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, fuck off."

"Dude."

"What do you want me to say? That it's okay? That you are totally welcome to be a complete asshole to me for a year, then suddenly decide to be my friend, then fucking stare at me for weeks, and then tell me that you really aren't doing what you're doing, then imply that I am gay and you are not to a cafeteria full of people waiting for any excuse to beat the shit out of me?"

Bright shifted uncomfortably. "Can I close the door?"

"Whatever."

"You know, dude, maybe if you were a bit more assertive, you wouldn't be having some of these problems." Bright knew that was bullshit as soon as he said it, but it sounded good, so he figured he might as well.

"You know, dude, that's total bullshit." Ephram jerked the cord of his headphones, and music filled the room. It was something Bright had never heard Ephram play before. Most of Ephram's music was either classical or jazz, or pop with a hard edge -- like the punk stuff he usually had on. But this was slow and kind of whiny.

Ephram rolled his eyes. "I can see your brain click. This is the Smiths."

"It's so gay," Bright replied, laughing -- then stopped. "Uh, I mean."

"I know what you meant, but nobody's ever been able to get the lead singer to say one way or the other." Ephram sighed. "What do you want, Bright? Or how about I go first? I'm sorry that I, like, outed you in the middle of the cafeteria."

"No, dude. You don't understand. I'm not gay!"

"Then what's going on, huh? You just think I'm pretty?"

"Well. Yeah. Kind of. You're not hard to look at. And you're fun to hang around with. And I think you're kind of neat, in a really dorky kind of way. I mean, I bet the lead singer of this band has puffy hair."

"It's a pompadour, actually." Ephram turned completely so that his whole body was facing Bright. "So what you're saying is that you like being my friend because I'm interesting and not terrible to look at."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And you're not gay."

"Right."

"So when you look like you want to kiss me, you're really just thinking about your car?"

"It's a truck."

"Well?"

Bright hesistated, then closed Ephram's door and sat down on the floor against it. "Dude, are you gay? Because if you are, you can tell me."

'Because I would really trust you enough to tell you whether or not I'm a fucking queer?"

Bright winced. "Man, I am really sorry about that. Can't you just let it go?"

"No."

"I really feel like we're talking in circles."

"i really don't care what you feel anymore."

"That's harsh, man."

Ephram turned up the volume on his stereo as a new song started, ignoring Bright. At least this song was a bit more upbeat. Then the lead-singer-who-may-or-may-not-be-gay-but-definitely-has-a-pompadour-whatever-that-is began to sing, about how everything may be going well, but heaven knows he's miserable now -- and it made Bright pretty miserable too.

"There's no way this guy isn't gay."

"How would you know?"

"How wouldn't I know?"

"You just said you weren't gay. Now you can tell who is?"

"Haven't you ever heard of gaydar?"

"You are a loser, Bright. You are a big fucking faggy loser. Do you know what we call people like you in New York? Losers. Do you know what they call people like you in Everwood? Losers. Do you know why? Because you are a loser. Go home and stare at your pictures of Colin and laugh with Amy about how fucking insane you both are, and just stay away from me."

Bright drew his knees up to his chest. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Ephram demanded. "This is my house. Leave."

"I don't have to. Your dad and Delia both like me. And, okay, Amy is insane. But I'm not. I'm just..."

"Not very smart?"

"Well... yeah." Bright folded his arms on top of his knees, and laid his head down, eyes closed. "That's me. Not-too-bright Abbott. That was what people called me my entire life, you know."

"So? People call me 'that fucking queer'. You're not getting any sympathy from this corner."

"You know, E, you're off your game tonight."

"Don't call me E."

"Colin called you E."

"Colin was--" Ephram cut himself off with a pained look. Bright knew how that felt, and wanted to tell him so, but then he said, "Go away, Bright."

"Colin was what?"

"Colin wasn't you."

"Yeah, no kidding. He was always the golden boy. Smart and talented."

"Bright. What. Do. You. Want. Tell me now or just leave."

"I... I don't know what I want."

"Am I supposed to have sympathy for you?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

"When you figure it out, come on back and see if I am still around."

"Ephram. Dude. Come on."

"Bright. Dude. Come on."

"You spend an awful lot of time mocking me. Don't you think I have feelings too?"

"I think your feelings don't really count in this situation."

"Now we really are talking in circles. Do you think I don't know why you're acting like this?"

"Yeah, I really think you don't know."

"Well, I do know. I know a lot more than you think I know. And I think you thought you could get to Amy through me, and now that you know that you can't, you're looking for any excuse to stop hanging out with me."

"You want to hang out with me, dumbass, not the other way around."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Bright scowled. Ephram had a point. A good point.

Ephram rolled over again, and off his bed, onto his hands and knees. "I am sick of this shit." He crawled toward Bright, who lifted up his head, and suddenly they were face to face, Ephram's chest against Bright's knees, his hands on either side of Bright's hips. Bright was suddenly painfully hard, the way only an aroused seventeen year old boy who hasn't had sex in months can be. His mind was racing and his heart was pounding. This was gonna be it, the moment of truth. Or lies.

"You have one chance," Ephram told him, his voice gravelly and low. "Tell me what the fuck is going on or get the fuck out."

Bright hesitated. "But -- "

"No. Do it, tell me, of your own free will, or get out."

Bright studied Ephram's face. The crazy eyebrows, the bright pale eyes, the pointy chin, the white white skin, whiter than anyone else Bright had ever seen. The red mouth, lips curvy and a little chapped, teeth yellowish and small.

Boys are different from girls, he reminded himself, and leaned forward, into Ephram's kiss.

  
  
Chapter 8: Dream  


Bright Abbott has this dream. It's not, like, a goal -- it's a real dream. He's had it almost every night for the past few weeks.

In this dream, his parents aren't jerks and his sister isn't fucked up and crying all the time and popping anti-depressants like Smarties (nor is she chasing them with vodka), and his best friend isn't dead. Except his best friend isn't Colin, in the dreams. In fact, the whole Hart family doesn't exist. And his best friend is his... sex partner.

Lover sounds too intimate, boyfriend is way too gay, even for a dream, and "friend with benefits" is a really stupid phrase.

So there's this dream. And in the dream, Bright is sitting on a couch, somewhere, and watching TV. Watching something. A movie? And he's kind of hard, so whatever he's watching must be sexy. Or must just be, because almost anything gets him hard, especially if someone hot is involved. And he's relaxed and happy, like he's just had a big dinner and it's pleasantly warm and his feet are on a coffee table.

He's not in his parents' house, or the Hart house, or the Brown house, or anyone's house. Maybe he's in his own house? It kind of feels like his, and his dream-self knows without going to check that there's a calendar in the kitchen with very naked girls on it.

And there he is. Ephram Brown. Standing across the room, leaning against the door, framed by sunlight. Bright's pretty sure Ephram helped him write a paper last month about symbolism, and that if Ephram surrounded by white sunlight isn't a symbol, Bright's not sure what it could possibly mean.

Eprahm's hair isn't too spiky, which means that if Bright ran his hands through it, they wouldn't come away coated with gel. And is he wearing black eyeliner? It's weird; he's dressed in what Bright thinks of as his "New York clothes": black. He's wearing a long sleeved shirt, black, underneat a T-shirt, black, no screen printing, no weird anime characters, so letters telling Bright that love will tear them apart. Cargo pants, black, and boots, black. And that damn studded belt, black and silver.

And he's holding something. A bottle? A drink? And in the other hand, a bag.

He crosses the room to Bright and says hello, says something else, the New York really in his voice. Standing over Bright with a hip cocked out, and Bright has to squint to see him, to adjust his eyes to the darkness surrounding Ephram after that bright flash of sunlight when he came into the room.

Ephram kneels at Bright's feet, and sets his bottle of -- soda pop? -- to the side. "Bright, you're not paying attention to me," he chides gently.

"Sorry." Bright raises a hand from the remote control by his side, and touches Ephram's mouth. Ephram opens his lips a bit and sucks in Bright's thumb, biting the pad. "God."

"Ephram."

"You're not funny."

"You just have no sense of humor."

"You're a dork."

"That's part of my offbeat charm." Ephram's grin makes Bright's knees weak; if he wasn't already sitting down, he'd have needed to lean against something. This is the part when dream-Bright and real-Bright always fight. Yes, go with it. No, wake up. Yes, you'll like this. No, it's wrong. There's nothing wrong with it. It's not natural. What about the penguins? I'm a football player, not a penguin --

Ephram's mouth is pressed up against Bright's. One hand is on each of Bright's knees, gripping, squeezing, supporting Ephram's weight as he leans forward, into Bright's body. It's like kissing a girl, any girl, except it's different, because Bright knows he's kissing a boy.

Real-Bright knows what dream-Bright doesn't. It's different because he/they're kissing Ephram. Ephram tastes mostly like cola, but a little like something spicy, like fresh onion in tuna fish or the ginger tea Linda gave him to drink when he fled to her office after losing it in the cafeteria. If ginger ale was spicier, but also cherry coke at the same time.

Ephram tastes exotic.

His tongue is strong, probably because he talks so much, but it doesn't stab into Bright's mouth so much as it licks into Bright's mouth a little hesitantly, which is kind of surprising to dream-Bright. Real-Bright knows that this is because most of the time Ephram is really sure about what he wants, but it's Bright's dream, and Ephram will be tentative if Bright wants him to be.

Dream-Bright only wants to be kissed harder. Real-Bright understands it's because sometimes he needs to be reassured that Ephram doesn't always know what's going on before everyone else.

Always, he's leaning forward a little, and becoming so intent on getting more of Ephram's kiss that he overbalances, and Ephram ends up on his back, with one of Bright's knees on either side of him, their groins pressed together.

Ephram is hard, so hard, and both dream-Bright and real-Bright relish the feel of his cock through his pants, and become even more feverishly intent on sucking Ephram's soul out through his mouth, chewing on his lips, biting, and finally leaving his mouth to bite sharply on his neck.

Bright has realized several times over that nothing is more of a turn on than being wanted. It's more sexy than even Jenna Jameson, or Baywatch-Pam Anderson. It's more sexy than watching Ephram eat an orange, unless Ephram was eating that orange in an attempt to turn Bright on.

Dream-Bright has memories that real-Bright doesn't -- like Ephram eating an orange, section by section, juice dripping down his face. And Ephram laying on a bed, naked, weirdly blurry, but laughing. And Ephram, pushed against a wall, legs around Bright's waist, sucking on Bright's neck and moaning as Bright's hand jerks him off.

Real-Bright wakes up from these dreams with those memories too, and the knowledge that they are fake, implanted, reassuring himself that he can't control his unconscious, and that his mind twists things. So if he falls asleep thinking about the things he did with Gemma, and maybe about studying with Ephram, of course his mind is going to mix it all up and get it wrong.

Or right.

Bright wonders, when he wakes up, before he goes to jerk off twice in the shower, whether or not he needs therapy. Maybe he needs drugs like Amy. But maybe... Maybe this is normal. It's the first time he's ever had sex dreams about a guy, but maybe that sort of thing happens to all guys.

There are two people he could talk to about this; one is dead and the other has the starring role in Bright's nightly mental porn movie. Bright figures he will just deal with this himself, somehow.

It's not that the dreams are so awful, really. They aren't nightmares. It's just that Bright isn't gay, so he feels weird having gay dreams.

He feels weird waking up with the top of his mouth sore, the feel of Ephram's cock still there. Sometimes he swears he can taste Ephram's come on the back of his tongue, spicy and gingery like Ephram's mouth, but a little more salty, a little weird. Not like girls at all, except maybe this is what girls' mouths feel like the morning after? That would suck for them, because it's not a nice feeling.

Real-Bright keeps hoping -- and he realizes this is fucked up -- that dream-Bright would get used to giving blow jobs so that his mouth stops hurting in the morning.

His dad would say it's psychosomantic, but Bright bets his Aunt Linda would tell him that it's his body's way of giving him permission to give Ephram a blow job, and once he does it, it will stop hurting in the dreams, that it's only hurting now because he's afraid of it.

Okay, maybe not. But someone would -- oh.

Colin would have told him that.

Colin would have laughed at Bright, though.

Colin would have told the football team and the basketball team and the swim team and the gymnastics team and the cheerleaders and pretty much anyone he could get to listen to him. Colin hated gay people, hated television shows about gay people, hated movies and magazines, and everything to do with gay people.

When Colin came back to life after the accident, Bright thought for real that he'd realized he was gay. All that hanging around with Ephram and gentle smiles and snubbing Amy and easy touching. If Colin couldn't remember that he hated gay people, he could easily become one.

But then Colin went back to the way he was for about ten seconds, and then he got scary, and then he died. That was Bright's mantra. He hated thinking about what happened when Colin stopped hanging out with Ephram, the person Colin became. And the worst part was that Bright knew all too well that that Colin was way more like real-Colin than Ephram's Colin.

What bothers Bright the most about these dreams, other than the peripheral elements he thinks about during the day, like Colin and Amy and trying to make a small Colorado town understand that it's not about boys and girls, it's about hotness, is Ephram's belt.

In Bright's dream, Ephram is wearing that studded belt. He wears the belt all the time. Even Bright knows that studded belts are big again. Bright had one himself, once upon a time, back in the seventh grade? Eighth? When he flirted with listening to Gravity Kills and Stabbing Westward. They weren't so bad, really, but people kind of looked at him funny, so he went back to wearing no belt at all and listening to pop music.

In Bright's dream, he slips his fingers under the waistband of Ephram's pants and touches the soft, warm skin there. Ephram always goes commando in Bright's dream, but Bright would bet his entire life's savings ($16,439.39) that Ephram wears boxers with anime characters on them.

Bright's hand works around Ephram's waist to his stomach, and tries not to touch Ephram's cock. No, he rubs the brief smattering of coarse hair with his palm, Ephram's cock hitting against his wrist, and twists his arm to grab Ephram's balls. Ephram sucks on his neck, bites his collar bone, and is definitely going to leave a mark.

He's whining and moaning, and Bright feels incredibly powerful. To bring Ephram Brown to his knees, to make Ephram beg and plead -- that is amazing. Real-Bright marvels at dream-Bright, and dream-Bright grabs Ephram's cock, hard, and jerks it, one two three, then pushes Ephram onto his back with a hand on his chest, and Ephram goes over quickly and his hands go to his belt, but Bright slaps them away.

Ephram is skinny enough that a belt doesn't help, that his pants will come down with enough tugging.

Oh god Bright please please -- panting gasping moaning -- please now come on this isn't fair please please god Bright godBright godbright GODBRIGHT --

Bright's mouth closes over the head of Ephram's cock, and Ephram begins to keen, sharp sounds, high pitched. Real-Bright thinks it's strange that Ephram's low I-smoke-a-lot voice gets so high pitched when he's got his cock in dream-Bright's mouth, but dream-Bright thinks it's sexy as hell that Ephram's voice breaks over the words.

Once arm is wrapped around Ephram's waist, keeping him lifted to Bright's mouth in the position Bright likes, a perfect fit. The studded belt is pressing into Bright's chest where he's pulled Ephram's pants down, but he can't move it because he can't stop, and anyway he needs Ephram's pants to constrict Ephram's movements.

(When dream-Bright remembers restraints and handcuffs and things that real-Bright can only vaguely identify from bondage porn, real-Bright gets nervous.)

Bright's other hand is wrapped around Ephram's cock, aiming him, stoking him in time with sucks and licks. Bright keeps his eyes open during sex. He doesn't want to miss a thing.

Ephram's cock isn't the biggest thing in the world, but it's a good size, and Bright doesn't mean that it's too small. It's just... good. It fits Ephram. It curves really nicely up to his stomach, and it's shaped a bit like a scimtar, and it flushes to a deep pinky-purple, and the head is really big, and fun to press up against the roof of his mouth. Watch the teeth, dream-Bright reminds himself.

Ephram's hands are tangled in Bright's hair. Not to guide him, but to hold on to something, Bright knows, because he's pulling up, and if Ephram was thinking about it, he'd be pushing down.

The back of Bright's throat is starting to hurt, and it's getting hard for him to breathe, so he hollows his cheeks and sucks hard on the head of Ephram's cock. The hand Bright had wrapped around Ephram's cock moves down a little, and plays with Ephram's balls, and gently stokes that spot behind his balls, but before his ass. He loves that, and the skin there is so soft, and it's almost an automatic orgasm for Ephram.

This time Bright goes a little further, and actually lets his middle finger tease Ephram's asshole. The reaction is immediate -- Ephram's hips jerk up and Bright's mouth is flooded with his come, and Ephram is moaning, screaming, crying, pulling Bright up his body to tangle their tongues before Bright's even swallowed it all.

Bright only wants Ephram to touch him, to wrap his long fingers around Bright's own cock, which is saluting and begging for attention. The front of Bright's jeans is damp with precome, and the constriction is uncomfortable. Ephram's cock is hard again, but he pulls his pants up with one hand, the other still tangled in Bright's hair, and then tangles his fingers --

And the alarm goes off. And real-Bright almost cries.

Par for the course, though, which is why he leaps up and into the shower faster than he ever has before in his entire life, and jerks off twice, rhythmically, forehead pressed to the wall, shower beating down on his back. Sometimes Bright kind of wants to stick his own fingers up his ass, but no -- his fist is more than adequate to take care of this.

Then comes the day, which is usually a school day, and that means that Bright has to try really hard to make sure that he doesn't say anything to Ephram, that he doesn't run his fingers over Ephram's studded belt, that he doesn't casually drop a kiss onto Ephram's neck. How would he explain that?

Dude, I'm not gay, I just wanted to lick you.

Dude, I'm not gay, I just want to suck your cock.

Bright could kick himself.

But he got to kiss Ephram once, and Ephram leaned into it just the way he did, and they met in the middle. (Dude, I'm not gay, let's make out.) And Ephram tasted like gingery cola, like spicy food and a little like chocolate. And Bright's hands worked their way down his body until his fingers twisted into Ephram's belt loops and the studded belt that Ephram wore dug into them.

Ephram kissed him hesitantly at first, and then opened his mouth, and Bright wondereed if maybe he should let his tongue into Ephram's mouth, but Ephram was licking Bright's lips, so it was a moot point.

There was no stopping to look at each other awkwardly, to say, "I never knew you felt this way," to say, "No, really, I'm not gay, you're just hot," to blush. There was no stopping so Bright could leave, so Ephram could go back to sulking.

There was no stopping, not even when the CD ended and the player clicked to the next one, and Bright learned that "love will tear us apart" is a song lyric.

They kissed and kissed and pressed against each other until Dr. Brown knocked on the door and said, "I don't hear you two yelling so either you're getting along or you killed each other. Which?" and Ephram pulled away, panting, but said in a normal voice, "We're studying, Dad."

Bright could study kissing Ephram for the rest of his life.

But that was when Ephram stood up and held out his hand. Bright took it and let Ephram pull him to his feet, and he only helped a little. Ephram stared at him, his hair not too gelled or spiky, but just falling around his face, and Bright wondered how he was ever going to be able to be around Ephram and not want to kiss him like that.

"Shave next time," Ephram said.

"Dude, you should be grateful you are getting to touch these lips at all."

"Shave next time," Ephram repeating, smiling this time. "It hurts. Didn't Gemma ever complain?"

"Never. Does it really?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Maybe I should go... ?" Bright bit his lip, then realized it was kind of sore. Had he ever made out with someone for over an hour before? He didn't think so. He couldn't recall it anyway.

"Maybe. If you want to. But I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be all weird and fucked up like you always are about shit like this?"

"I don't know."

"At least that's an honest answer, I guess."

"It's the only one I can give you." Bright held out his hands, palms up, hoping that maybe the movement of his shirt would held hide his hardon. "I just don't know. I don't know anything about any of this. I mean, what the fuck? I just made out with you. I'm not gay! You're not gay! But we're all wrestling like we are. So what the fuck? I don't know."

"Well, I'm kind of gay, anyway." Ephram scuffed his foot on the carpet.

"Oh. I kind of figured that, dude."

"Well, you're kind of gay too."

"I'm trying not to figure that." Bright laughed a little. "I'm in denial."

"Is that what that was?"

"Yeah. It makes the sex better."

"Uh-huh."

And then Bright left, avoiding Delia and Dr. Brown watching television on his way out by just calling out a goodbye to them and closing the door tight. He climbed into his truck, turned the music on loud, and took a long shower when he got home.

He fell asleep tasting Ephram, and wondering how exactly he was supposed to act the next day. Boys aren't like girls -- they're harder, more complicated. Girls, you say hi to them in the hallway and wink, and they know it means "Meet me in the boiler room during fifth period and we'll have some fun." Boys, you wink at them in the hall and it means, "The cheerleaders are wearing see-through underwear."

Bright finally falls asleep when he realizes that it's okay -- he can plead ignorance to Ephram, and get away with not knowing how to act. He can just tell Ephram, "Look, dude, I don't know how this works because I'm not gay. So you have to be patient."

And Ephram will do that thing -- that one where he smiles a bit and rubs his hand over the back of his neck -- and he'll say, "I'll tutor you."

Bad exit line, especially for Ephram, who was almost always sarcastic and witty and sharp, but it comforted Bright enough to put him to sleep.

  
  
Chapter 9: Maybe  


When Bright and his aunt sat and drank tea -- well, tea for Linda, hot chocolate rice milk for Bright, which absolutely did not taste as good as regular hot chocolate, but it did the trick -- Linda had already heard about what happened in the cafeteria. It had only been about an hour, but one of her patients had pulled her son out of afternoon classes to have her do some reflexology on his carpal tunnel, and it was all he could talk about, she told Bright. He thought it was really funny that anyone would ever think that Bright Abbott could be gay.

"What would you do if I told you I was a lesbian?" she'd asked him.

"Jesus, Aunt Lin," he replied. "Are you really?"

"Maybe. But maybe not. Is it your business?"

"No."

"Would you call me a fucking queer?"

"No. There's nothing wrong -- "

"With other people being gay?" she finished. "But god forbid that Bright Abbott, star athlete -- "

"Not anymore," he mumbled into his cup.

"Star athlete," she continued, with a stern look, "good with the ladies, and all around decent guy could possibly be gay."

"It's not that I couldn't be gay. It's that I'm not," he insisted.

"How do you know you're not?"

"I just do."

"The way you know that I'm not a lesbian?"

"Listen, it's different for two girls. Everyone thinks that's hot. Sure, if you were gay some people would rag on you and dad would flip his lid, but mostly people would just want to watch. Nobody thinks that two guys together is hot, except for fags." Bright leaned back in his chair.

"I beg to differ, Bright. I have met quite a number of people in my life, and I've experienced many many different cultures, and there are plenty of women who find the idea of two men together arousing. There are even heterosexual men who are aroused by watching other men." Linda leaned forward, her eyes on Bright's.

Bright blushed despite himself. Linda shook her head. "Bright, I don't mean to embarrass you. But if you do find Ephram attractive, and he you, there's nothing wrong or bad with pursuing that attraction."

Bright flushed an even brighter -- ha ha -- pink and squirmed in his chair. "Come on, Aunt Lin."

"Bright. Look at me right now." He raised his eyes back up to meet hers. "It is just like being with girls. Be kind and courteous and funny -- and yourself -- and if Ephram feels the same way, he'll respond. Otherwise you should do what you'd do in any situation like this, which is -- "

"Get him drunk?" Bright asked dryly, willing his voice not to squeak.

"Back off," answered his aunt firmly. "And don't be provoking." She drained her cup and stood up. "And for god's sakes -- "

"Use a condom, I know, I know."

"No, smartass. Make sure your father finds out the same time Andy Brown does, otherwise you'll probably be disinherited."

"I'll be disinherited anyway," said Bright glumly. He finished his hot chocolate rice milk and handed the cup back to his aunt.

"Oh, come on, Bright. Give your mother some credit!" Linda winked at him.

"There's nothing wrong or bad with pursuing that attraction," Bright repeated to himself the next day, staring into the bathroom mirror. "There is nothing bad or wrong with hot kissing and groping on Ephram's bedroom floor. There is nothing bad or wrong about having weird dreams about other guys. There is nothing bad or wrong with embracing hotness where you find it."

There is nothing wrong with maybe being gay. Maybe.

#

Saturday morning, and Bright had already had a detailed sex dream about another man, gotten up early, showered, jerked off twice, and thunk deep thoughts. It was time for some coffee and a drive and loud music, but Bright ended up at the old swimming hole, thinking about Colin.

If Colin -- Real Colin, not Colin #2 or Colin #3 as Bright had come to think of him -- was still around, what would Bright tell him? For real, what would Bright tell him.

There's nothing to tell, he told himself sharply.

Oh yeah? asked the other part of his brain.

Yeah.

Then what the fuck is wrong with you?

"Good question," Bright said out loud. He snapped the radio off. "Shit."

What is wrong with me? With my dad? This town? Amy? 17 years of being heterosexual, and then came Ephram?

Yeah, then came Ephram. Can we move on now?

Bright laughed at himself. Then came Ephram, indeed. What would he have said to Colin? And then what would Colin have said to everyone at school?

Dude, Ephram is pretty cool, huh? What would you think if I tapped that ass?

Oh. Did Bright want to tap that ass? It wasn't a bad ass. Especially in those jeans. With that belt. What did that entail, anyway? Tab A, Slot B. Ball, Net. Heh. Ball.

If Bright couldn't think about it without giggling, maybe he and Ephram would stick to kissing. Or maybe Bright should do some research.

He turned the radio back on and turned the truck around and went home to borrow Amy's computer. It was so early, she was still sleeping, so he snuck into her room and grabbed it, and set it up in the kitchen. Her passwords were all easy enough to guess -- Colin to get into her computer, Ephram to get into her email. Duh.

The first season of Will & Grace. A search for "men kissing" brought him X2 and X-Men, and he didn't remember any men kissing in that, for sure. So he started searching by the actors in Will & Grace and ended up with Billy's Hollywood Screen Kiss, too. His mom, he remembered, liked The Birdcage years and years ago, and Better than Chocolate, which was about two girls, so there was no way it could suck, and on that page there was a link to Bound, and if there was someone hotter than Gina Gershon or Jennifer Tilly, Bright had never seen them. He very deliberately did not think about the way Ephram looked when the windows were rolled down and the wind was blowing his hair, and his eyes were closed, and he was singing along with Pearl Jam.

Everything Bright needed to know about being gay, he could clearly learn from amazon.com's DVD section.

He didn't forget to empty out the cache and clear the history and slip the computer back into Amy's room, but he did forget to take into account that he would have to wait a few days to receive his purchases, which meant having to see Ephram, and possibly play it all by ear. Not like they were going to be having sex any time soon, but Bright wanted to be prepared, damn it. So he had two options:

1\. Avoid Ephram until he was able to watch all these DVDs

or

2\. Just be cool.

He was gonna be cool. And play it by ear, whatever that meant. Why didn't people say play it by nose? Or even, play it by play?

Whatever. It wasn't like he had any familiarity with any of this stuff anyway. He would deal with it, and not worry about the future. Much.

Okay. He'd worry until Monday. Then he would just go with the flow. Maybe.

  
  
Chapter 10: Hiding  


Bright hid himself away for the weekend. He didn't answer the phone and he didn't come down for meals. He needed to think. He needed to make a decision, to find a course of action and follow through. He also needed to read a book for English class, which was a struggle. It would have been a bit easier if he'd bothered to do the reading assignments when he was supposed to, instead of having to read through the entire thing in one go, but he thought he'd be getting an easy ride on a football scholarship.

Oh well. No use crying over spilled rice milk, right?

Like Bright would ever cry anyway.

He spent most of the weekend laying on his bed with his hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling, not really thinking at all. Just... daydreaming, really. Or not. Just thinking. Except not. Sometimes rubbing himself, and wishing he knew what he wanted.

Did he want Ephram to be there, to be on his bed with him, staring up at the ceiling? Or sucking on his neck? Or did he want to be in his truck, driving somewhere, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on Ephram's leg? Did he not want to be around Ephram at all? No -- he definitely wanted Ephram to be somewhere near him all the time.

Was it time to say, "I'm gay"? Was it time to decide that he just didn't want girls anymore? No, it couldn't be, because girls were hot. Boys were not. Girls hot, boys not. Girls boys hot not.

He briefly considered writing a poem a la Dr. Seuss, but that would mean writing a poem, and despite wanting to kiss boys and giggle, Bright was definitely not a thirteen year old girl.

If Ephram was there, Bright wouldn't need to think or make decisions or try to decide on a course of action. Why would he? He could just lay there and Ephram would stand awkwardly at the door, because Ephram had never been into his room before.

"I expected your room to be as messy as your hair," Ephram would say.

Bright would just smile lazily and crook a finger at Ephram. "C'mere," he'd reply, in a husky voice. Ephram would slowly cross the room, taking off his sweatshirt as he did so, and Bright would catch glimpses of that damn belt when Ephram's arms were raised.

And when Ephram finally hit Bright's bed, Bright would take that crooked finger and tuck it into one of the belt loops on the front of Ephram's jeans, and use it to tug Ephram down until he was leaning on the bed, his hair -- ungelled please -- falling down over his face, brushing against Bright's. Bright would lean forward and press his mouth to Ephram's, pink against red, and carefully unbuckle Ephram's belt, and pull it off his pants and toss it to the floor.

Ephram would choke out his name -- "Bright, please" -- and Bright would deftly unbutton Ephram's jeans. Oh, button fly. Nemesis or the sexiest thing in the world? Bright didn't wear button fly, but he loved it when other people did. An easy trigger, all those buttons. What's underneath? Can you wait long enough to undo them all or will you rip them off?

It worked better for girls, because they could wear those dresses with buttons up the back and sleeves, but Ephram pulled it off damn well, and anyone who said he didn't was a liar. You didn't have to be gay to appreciate the way the guy wore jeans. Colin even said so once.

Bright definitely agreed. Nobody could ever compare naked to the way Ephram looked in jeans. And. That. Fucking. Belt.

Pants open, Bright pushed them down. No underwear, just like in his dreams. Ephram knew why he was there and it wasn't to play video games and read comic books -- oh, sorry, mahngah.

And then Ephram would pull away from Bright's mouth and hands and push Bright's T-shirt up, and bite at his chest and stomach, and lay his cheek against Bright's crotch and his super hard dick, and close his eyes.

"Jesus, Ephram," Bright would groan. "Don't fucking stop there, dude!"

No, wait. That kind of killed the moment.

"Don't fucking stop there, man!"

Better. Much better.

And Ephram would use his teeth to open the button on Bright's jeans, and his hand to push the zipper down, and there's Bright's cock in all its glory. Not as pretty as Ephram's, but thicker and longer, with a mind of its own focused on only one thing: getting inside Ephram.

Into his mouth, that is. Because the only other place to go inside Ephram was something gay guys and gay guys only did, except for girls in porn. And that was it.

So into Ephram's mouth he went, and Ephram's hands held on to Bright's hips and Bright knew they were going to leave marks because Ephram's hands were fucking strong as hell from all that piano playing, and Bright tangled his fingers into Ephram's hair -- no gel, good boy -- and guided his movements.

All the way down Ephram's throat -- had he done this before? He must have. With who? Nobody in Everwood. No wonder he was horny and dying for it, if it had been over a year since he'd last had cock in his mouth. Bright knew that once Ephram was gone and he'd stopped being gay, he'd definitely miss the feeling of power, the way his mouth ached minutes after but not during, the taste of -- no. No he would not.

He would not miss being gay when Ephram was gone. And Ephram would leave, Bright knew; he'd leave and go back to New York, and then Bright would go back to chasing girls, and he would never think about boys again. In that way, anyway.

And why would he? Who in dinky little Everwood could compare to Ephram? Nobody, that's who. And anyone who said different was obviously lying.

Then Bright would choke and cry and shoot right down Ephram's throat, and Ephram's fingernails would draw blood from Bright's thighs but he'd swallow it all, and then he would roll over onto his back on the other side of Bright, and rub his own dick until Bright crawled down him and took him into his mouth.

That's what I'm talking about. Bright smiled and nodded his head. Oh yeah. That is the way life needs to be. Me and Ephram, all the time. All the dick you can suck whenever you can suck it.

Okay, that was definitely the gayest thing he'd ever thought. He was going to have to embrace this gay thing at some point, and just become the faggiest fag to ever gay-out.

He was definitely going to draw the line at eyeliner, though. It would look much better on Ephram.

  
  
Chapter 11: Talk  


"Well, well. What have you been doing, holed up in your room all weekend?" asked Rose Monday morning.

"Doing homework. And thinking. I have a lot to think about, you know." Bright glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye. "I have to figure out which college I want to go to, and the logistics of getting in, and whether or not we can afford it -- "

"Tell you what, Bright." His father slipped into his jacket and zipped it while continuing, "If you can get into college on your grades, your mother and I will pay for it, whether it's the state college in Denver or Princeton, okay?"

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. Are you?"

Howard slammed the door on his way out and Rose sighed. "Well, there you go, Bright."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, fart face," replied Bright, turning to face Amy.

"No kidding." To her mother she said, "If I get into any college based on my grades, are you and dad going to pay for that?"

"We will discuss this at another time. Go, before you're late for school and I'm late to the office." Rose grabbed her own jacket, her bag, and herded her kids out the door. "Bright, we need to talk tonight. I won't forget, so be here."

"Yes, ma'am." Bright and Amy watched their mother climb into her car and drive off, then turned to each other.

"I hate you," Amy said.

"Well, you smell bad," replied Bright, and unlocked his truck.

She walked around the back of his truck so he couldn't pull out of the driveway, and got into the passenger side. "That's why you should always lock your doors," she told him, sounding more like Rose than he was comfortable with.

"What's up, Ames? What do you want?"

"Why do you do this to me, Bright?" she asked, staring out the window.

"Do what?" He punched on the radio, and she turned it right off. "What the fuck?"

"You weren't joking when you said you were going to date Ephram if I wasn't, were you?"

Bright looked over at her. Nope, not really mad. Not yelling or crying or anything; just staring out the window, wearing an old sweater of Colin's that Laynie found. But she wasn't teasing either.

Admit nothing under enemy torture, Bright reminded himself sternly. "Why would you care if anyone dated Ephram? He told me what you said to him at the reverend's wedding, that he should follow his bliss or whatever. Why are you now, weeks later, interested in where his tongue's at? You don't even hang out with him like friends do anymore."

"Because he's always with you! In the hallway, at lunch, after school, after dinner. I can't get him on the phone, and he won't ride home with me -- " Yep. Angry. Whoops.

"Listen, Ames." He interrupted her tirade, which he'd really stopped listening to. Unfair, but she was boring. "You told him no. He believed you. Now he is trying to finally move on. He's not on your hook anymore, after over a year. You don't get to change your mind and say scrimmage and expect he'll play your game."

"Because he's too busy playing yours." Her voice was almost a hiss. Bright looked over at her again as he pulled in to the school parking lot.

"What the fuck, Amy? I realized he's a cool dude, okay? There's nothing wrong with me trying to find some friends who aren't dicks. Are you drunk or something?" Wrong question, Bright, you dumbass. He raised his voice, hoping maybe she wouldn't answer that. "Look! I know you loved Colin but you have to stop this. He's gone. MOVE ON. It's not like he was all that great anyway. Dude was my best friend, but come on. He played everyone, all the time, and even when he came back and didn't remember anything, he remembered how to play people. He is not worth this!"

"How dare you?" Amy shouted back. "He was the best!"

"He was going to break up with you!"

Amy bust into tears. "You know, Bright, I knew you could be cruel, that sometimes you were a jerk, but that -- "

"He told me. That night. He asked if it was okay with me, if we'd still be friends." Bright wasn't yelling anymore. "He said you were suffocating him."

Amy sniffled and wiped her nose on the sweater, but continued crying, and Bright was suddenly, irrationally really pissed off. How dare she cry as though her heart was breaking? She was six-fucking-teen with a brand new car and friends and good grades, and at least she had the guy she wanted for a little while. Why couldn't she be content with that and move on? It wasn't like she was a lesbian. Unless she really was making out with Laynie and allt his emotion was really guilt. Nah.

"What you should do," he said, as kindly as he could, "is go find yourself a joint, smoke up some, get really drunk, have a one night stand, and move on."

"What?" Amy began laughing and crying at the same time, and it was kinda grotesque.

"That's what I did!" Bye, bye, virginity. "It worked pretty well."

"But I'm not... Bright, I don't even think this is about Colin. I keep trying to move on, I know I should. Whether or not he's worth it." She still wasn't looking at him. "But I can't. I'm stuck. In, like, a bubble or something."

"But what about the pills?"

 

"They aren't helping."

"So maybe you just have to decide to move on."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You decide it and then you do it."

"It doesn't work that way for me."

"It works that way for everyone."

Amy turned her face to Bright. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, and her nose was red, and her face was marked with tears. "Does this look like the face of someone who enjoys wallowing?" she demanded. "Look at me! I look like shit all the fucking time, I can't do anything or go anywhere because I might suddenly start crying, I can't eat or sleep -- I'm miserable. I would stop being miserable if I could, but I can't!"

"Ames..."

"I don't want to go to school like this." She shook her head, and wiped away more tears. "Can you take me home?"

"I can't miss classes," Bright replied apologetically. "If I miss just one class that isn't excused, I'll flunk out."

"Jesus."

"Here. Take the truck." He tossed her the keys.

"I thought you thought I was drunk," she said, and he could tell she was teasing, even around the tears.

"Are you?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if you were?"

"Probably."

"Can you drive home like this?"

"Yes."

"So take my truck." Bright shrugged.

"Okay." Amy paused, then looked over at him and met his eyes. And there was something there Bright hadn't seen in a long time. It took a moment, but he got it. The medication must be helping her more than she thought, he realized, because even with the crying and the grossness, she looks more alive now than she has since before Colin died.

Bright grinned at her.

"If Ephram rides you home on his handlebars, make sure you take a picture." As Bright climbed down out of the truck, Amy slid over the seats.

"Hey! Get out of here. No -- wait."

"Yeah?" Amy turned the truck back on, but didn't put it into gear.

"If I was."

"If you were. Go ahead. You don't need my permission." Amy smiled at him again, hesitantly. "Thanks for letting me take your truck. I'll take good care of it."

"No problem." Bright slung his knapsack over his shoulder and headed for class.

#

Be cool, Abbott, Bright repeated to himself under his breath. He half-walked, half-jogged up to Ephram.

"Hey, Brown. I let Amy take my truck today, so I can't give you a ride."

"That's okay. I can call Madison. She can pick us up." Ephram moved over a bit and gestured to the seat next to his. "Are you gonna sit?"

"Sure."

They ate for a minute or two in silence, before Bright had to say something. "Dude."

"No."

"Huh?"

"I do not want to have one of those what-it-all-means conversations. You're here and you're not acting like a dick and that's what matters right now. I don't care if you insist you're straight until your dying day. Right now it's cool, and we can talk about it later, so don't ruin it."

"Dude."

"No."

"No, really, dude. I just wanted to know why you're still talking to Madison after she outed you." Bright pulled a brownie out of his pack and carefully broke it in half. "Here -- extra chips and extra nuts."

"Pecans?"

"Walnuts."

"Okay."

"So?"

"So?"

"Madison?"

"She didn't out me. She outed you."

"Dude. I'm not gay."

"Yeah, I know." Ephram bit into the brownie. "Did your mom make these? They're excellent."

"Chew with your mouth closed, dude. That's gross." Bright shoved his whole half into his mouth, then said around it, "I'll tell her you liked them."

"Jeez. That's really attractive."

"It's my manly charm."

"Wasted on me, no cheerleaders around." Ephram smirked at Bright. "Anyway, my dad already knew. Sort of. It was Delia who didn't know."

"But your dad said -- "

"I know. It was because it's nobody's business, especially in this town."

"But. But."

"What?"

"Just. I mean. Your dad never seemed that cool before."

"He can be cool sometimes. There are benefits to having a dad from New York." Ephram pulled a bag of cookies out of his own bag. "Delia made these this weekend when she called you and you wouldn't come to the phone. She still thinks she's the Brown you're going to date."

"We're not dating."

'Sorry. I forgot. She thinks she's the Brown down whose throat you're going to stick your tongue."

"Do you ever stop?"

"No, it's part of my dorktastic charm that you find so irresistable."

"Well, you are a dork, dork." Bright took a sip of Ephram's cola, and made a face. Warm. He should have just gotten his own. "Can you help me with English this afternoon?"

"Sure, waddya got?"

Bright took out his books, and watched Ephram bend his dark head over them, and remembered Ephram's head in his fantasies that weekend.

What is wrong with Amy? Bright wondered. What made her want Colin more than this guy? Colin wasn't more attractive than Ephram is, wasn't as smart of funny or nice, didn't have half as much going for him -- Colin was going to grow up and be an alcoholic used car dealer. Ephram is going to be a world famous pianist, or a writer, or a comedian, or something.

"Hey. Dude."

Ephram looked up. "Yeah? I think I've got this -- you can pick something like -- "

"What are you going to be when you grow up?"

"Huh? I dunno. I always thought I'd be playing piano. You know, go to Juilliard, have a fantastic career. But. You know."

"No. What?"

"They told me I wasn't good enough. That talent isn't everything. That I wouldn't make it past playing Barry Manilow and Bach in lounges. And I haven't decided on a backup plan yet."

Bright folded his arms on the table and laid his head down. "So you're just giving up?"

"Not exactly. I still practice. I still love it. I can still get into a school like Mannes, but it's not the same. So I guess I won't be paying the rent from it."

"And you're okay with that?"

"No. Are you okay with not playing football? What are you going to do?"

You, replied Bright's brain. I am gonna do you. But his mouth said, "I never wanted to play ball all my life. Or coach, or sell used cars, or -- "

"You could sell Jacuzis," suggested Ephram very seriously. "I can see it now -- you, naked in a hot tub with lots of chest hair and gold chains -- "

"You think about me naked?" asked Bright, grinning.

Ephram ignored him. " -- lots of babes in bikinis, and some champagne..."

Bright snorted. "Not exactly."

"What brought this on anyway?" asked Ephram. "It has nothing to do with your English essay."

"I was just. Thinking. About you."

"I'm flattered." Ephram smiled crookedly at Bright. "Don't worry about me. If I don't figure it out, I can always live off my dad and play in smoky little clubs. Well, not so smoky anymore because you're not allowed to smoke inside in New York, but, you know. Atmospheric little clubs anyway."

"You never thought about, like, pop music or something? Go back to New York, have legions of screaming teenage girl fans try to rip your clothes off?"

"I definitely want to go back to New York. But I don't sing and I can't write, so being a pop musician is out unless I want to back some lame band. Maybe I will just go back and go to school and hang out, smoking weed and having orgies, like every Everwood parent's worst nightmare."

"Sounds like a plan to me. Is there room for one more?" asked Bright, not sure if he was serious or joking, but knowing Ephram's answer was very important.

Ephram stared at him as though they'd never met before. "Maybe there could be room for one more," he replied cautiously. "Now check out this part of the book..."

#

"So nice of you to join us for dinner, Bright." His dad took a scoop of peas. "I'm sure we can't compete with Dr. Brown's menagerie, or the allure of your ceiling, but it's good to see you anyway."

"Come on, dad. I haven't been there that much. Can I have the pot roast?"

"Yes you have," said Amy as she passed the platter to him.

"And what's this about you stealing Amy's boyfriend?" continued Harold.

"Amy doesn't have a boyfriend," replied Bright, at the same time Amy said, "Ephram was never my boyfriend."

"Harold," said Rose warningly. "Where on earth would you hear something like that?"

"Well, Rose, aside from the screaming Bright and Amy engaged in the other night, and Bright's outburst in the cafeteria, and all the time he's spent at that quack's house with his Rain Man son lately, one of my patients told me."

"Which one?" demanded Bright, ignoring the Rain Man crack.

"Now, that information is confidential. You should know better," chided Harold. "Is it true, or isn't it? And give me that pot roast."

"Harold! Bright! What on earth?" Rose looked from her husband to her son.

"It's true," answered Amy. "Bright and Ephram are dating."

"Amy!" chorused Bright, Harold, and Rose, in varying degrees of dismay and irritation.

"What? It's true. If Ephram was a girl, they'd be walking down the hallways with their hands in each other's back pockets." Amy shrugged, and took a sip of milk. "First Ephram stole Colin, then Colin died, and now Bright's stolen Ephram."

"Hey. Hey. You gave Ephram to me on a freaking platter!"

"I gave Ephram to Madison," replied Amy testily.

At least she wasn't crying. Bright rolled his eyes. "Ephram hates Madison."

"Yeah? Ephram hates you too, but it was Madison he was kissing when he passed his driving test."

"Really? I mean, he would never, but... Go Ephram."

"He would. I saw them. I saw him with Colin too, but then Colin came back to me, so I let it go." Amy pushed her plate away. "I'm not hungry. May I be excused?"

"Yes," said Rose.

"No," said Harold. "What is going on with Bright and Ephram?"

"Ask Bright," replied Amy, and stood up. "I'm going up to my room. I have homework."

Bright turned to face his parents and realized this was going to be just like dealing with Ephram. He needed to ignore the lump in his throat and the burning in his gut and play it cool. He needed to say that Amy was clearly insane, even though she hadn't started crying, and that the gossip circuit was all wrong, and that he wanted another dinner roll.

"I really hope it's not going to be a problem for you guys that I am dating Ephram. I told him you were progressive in your beliefs. At least I'm not crazy like Amy, right?"

#

"Bright Abbot! Good to see you!"

"Hi, Dr. Brown. Can I come in?"

"Sure, sure. Delia's already gone to bed, though, and I am going to have to ask you not to stay too late because -- "

"Can I stay over?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Can I crash here?"

"Bright, you have a perfectly lovely home."

"My parents are kind of upset at me right now. I think it would be better if I didn't stay there tonight."

"What about Edna or Linda?"

"They would want to know why."

"I do, too!"

"You already do. You know."

"Oh. Hm. In that case, come on in. Just make sure you sleep on the couch. Delia is a little too young, I think, to understand other arrangements. Especially since she wants to marry you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Do your parents know you're here?"

"I guess so. I didn't tell them I was coming, if that's what you're asking."

"Did they... ask you to leave? I thought they were more progressive than that."

"No. I just thought it would be better if I took off and let them deal."

"Oh, Bright. You should have told them. I realize that coming out to them can't have been easy, but -- "

"I didn't come out. I'm not gay. Why does everyone keep saying that I am?"

"I'm sorry. I don't understand. Bright, what did you tell your parents if it wasn't that you're dating Ephram?"

"Just because I'm dating him doesn't make me gay."

"I beg to differ."

"No. I am not gay. I am not attracted to boys. I -- "

"If you are toying with my son, young man, I will not tolerate it. Ephram is -- "

"Ephram. Is."

"Yes. Ephram is Ephram. And I -- "

"No. Sir. I do. Like Ephram. Like that. But I'm not gay. See? I just like Ephram. More than I like anyone else."

"Hm."

"No toys involved, Dr. Brown. I promise."

  
  
Chapter 12: Following  


Bright couldn't figure out if he was the stupidest person alive, or the smartest, or what. There weren't any gay people in Everwood. None. Of course, no one in Everwood ever got an abortion or had a crisis of faith or drove drunk or had premarital sex... So.

Maybe he was just following in his father's footsteps of being scandalous. There goes that Abbott family again, making the only waves in town.

Ephram thought it was awesome, which itself was neat. Bright kind of flushed when Ephram said, "It was a very cool thing to do," and Dr. Brown added, "Very brave. You still have to sleep on the couch."

The neighbor, Nina, was there too. She'd been drinking something with Dr. Brown -- it smelled like the ginger tea Aunt Linda had given him before the hot chocolate rice milk. She also thought it was brave, and she offered her guest room, but Ephram declined that for him. She looked sad, like maybe someone had died, so Bright and Ephram went up to Ephram's room. They didn't even jump on each other and start making out, just sat there staring at each other.

"It really was a cool thing." Ephram broke off eye contact, stared down at his hands. He was sitting on the bed, and Bright was against the door, a strange reenactment of the last time they were in this room together.

"I didn't really have much choice." Bright shrugged. His eyes never left Ephram. The longer he stared at Ephram, the more he wanted to say something to him. He had no idea what, but god. There was something inside him that he just... needed to say. "You know..."

"Yeah?" Ephram looked up. Dark hair, bright eyes, mouth slightly open.

"Forget it." Bright stood up and crossed the room, then knelt in front of Ephram. "I didn't do it for me. I did it for you, because -- because I want you. And I think you want me. And I don't understand why I feel this way, because you're a dork and I'm not. But --"

"Opposites attract. You're such a sweet talker." Ephram slid his hands into Bright's hair and leaned down and they were kissing again. Ephram's tongue was in his mouth, rubbing roughly against his, and Bright's hands were under Ephram's shirt, down his pants, pulling him off the bed and onto the floor, grabbing at his butt.

Bright Abbott had his hands on some guy's butt.

No. Not some guy. Ephram. This was all about Ephram. And butt. And tongue in his mouth, and rough scraping and fingernails and pushing his cock into Ephram's and being so hard he felt dizzy and sucking on Ephram's mouth until it bruised.

As long as Bright could kiss Ephram Brown forever, he could deal with anything else.

#

Bright wasn't crying. He'd only cried twice since he was 8: the night of the accident, when he realized Colin wasn't going to wake up, and the day Colin died on the operating table. Okay, maybe four times -- he cried when Colin woke up, and he cried the night he and Ephram busted Amy at that frat party and she told him she hated him and would never forgive him.

Well, she certainly got back at him. You don't tell your parents that your brother stole your boyfriend -- even when he didn't, even when that boyfriend chased him -- except to get revenge. Especially if you already said that you were cool with it. Bitch.

But maybe her revenge had been building for a long time, since Bright had killed the love of her life, then stole -- well, then somehow ended up with -- his replacement.

Bright wasn't crying, because he kind of had a boyfriend. And he had a place to sleep. And he thought maybe he had a plan for the future -- he could go to a college in New York and live with Ephram in some little apartment and they could drink a lot of coffee with cream and sugar and eat weird New York food for breakfast and spend their nights in dim little clubs, Ephram playing piano like the world was about to end, Bright leaning against the wall in a tipped-back chair, drinking beers all night and maybe smoking something, like a joint or a cigarette. And then making out in alleys and Bright would bite his way down Ephram's chest and squat, because nobody sat on their knees in an alley in New York, and give Ephram the blow job of his life.

And. Eventually his parents would calm down and he would be able to look at Amy without wanting to beat her over the head with Colin's old baseball bat. Eventually being the key word.

Why, then, was he clearly not crying?

When had his life become so complicated?

And what would his life have been like if he'd never crashed the car? What would Bright think of Ephram if Colin -- first Colin, Colin #1, pre-accident Colin -- was still alive and well and himself? And what did Amy mean when she said she'd seen Ephram and Colin together? Did Bright even want to know? Were some things meant to be? Would Ephram and Bright have ended up together no matter what?

Bright's brain hurt. He curled into a tighter ball on the too-short and too-narrow couch. Maybe he should have gone home with the neighbor and slept in her guest room. Ephram told him they had a guest room too, but it didn't have a bed, or much of anything in it except boxes of comics and medical research books. At least bedding down hadn't been awkward. Dr. Brown had rapped sharply on Ephram's door and said, "Bedtime, kids," then tossed Bright some sheets and a blanket and a pillow as Bright passed him on the way downstairs. Bright pulled his toothbush and sweatpants out of his knapsack and stole another kiss from Ephram on his way to the bathroom.

And then he laid down and couldn't sleep. So he stared at the ceiling and thought about how he couldn't believe he'd thrown his whole life away for a two hours makeout session and a year of being a social pariah, until he was able to leave and go to college.

Except he hadn't really thrown his life away. He knew himself, kind of, and was learning more and more about new Bright -- who he was without football and swimming and basketball and softball filling all of his days, and Colin and girls at night, and skipping class, and -- who Bright was all by himself.

But you aren't by yourself, his brain said. You are with Ephram.

  
  
Chapter 13: End/Begin  


There were lots of times in his life when Bright Abbott stood at a crossroads. Pivotal moments, turning points. Like when he could have stayed on the team if he just said "Hey, man, my best friend died. Give me a break." Or when he could have skipped out on his English test to spy on the cheerleads, but he didn't, and he actually -- well, he didn't ace it, but he got a B, and that's close. Or when he was fourteen and Colin said, "Your sister isn't so bad" and Bright replied, "I guess not" when he should have said, "Dude, stay away from my sister or I'll feed you your teeth". Or the first day of kindergarten when he saw Colin from across the room and went right over to him and said, "Let's be friends. Can I have your orange crayon?"

Or when he was sitting at dinner with his parents and instead of denying everything, he told them he was dating Ephram Brown. Even though they weren't dating, not really, and if they were Amy had said it was okay anyway -- but, clearly, because she was Amy she changed her mind and thought it would be fine.

It wasn't. He was still mad, weeks later. At least she hadn't told anyone else. He and Ephram were mostly left alone at school. Laynie stopped talking to him, but it wasn't like they'd ever had anything to say to each other anyway. He spent most of his time at school studying, working hard, and all the other time hanging out with Ephram -- so that hadn't really changed either. They didn't hold hands when they walked down the hall, but sometimes their fingertips touched, and neither of them pulled away.

His parents still weren't talking to him -- "Do you need lunch money?" and "Is your homework done?" didn't count as talking, in his book. It wasn't like anything had changed really -- that was what it was always like with them. But it was their voices that were different, and the way they looked at him. He couldn't figure out if they were mad because he was gay or mad because it was Ephram or mad because Bright didn't trust them enough to tell them himself. Except, really, he hadn't even known until he said it.

He and Ephram'd had a weird conversation a few days after The Night Amy Told Their Parents Bright Was Gay. They'd been laying on the floor, watching Delia and Madison watch television, ears pressed together, legs stretched in opposite directions.

Ephram said to Bright, "Maybe you're bi. You know, boys and girls."

Bright replied, "That's stupid. Either you like one or you like the other."

"It's not that easy. Girls can be hot, too. Look at Madison."

They both turned their heads to look at Madison, who was under a blanket on the couch with Delia curled up next to her. She stuck her tongue out at them. "I think that was a compliment, Ephram, so thank you.

"Welcome." Ephram turned his head back to Bright. "You can't pick and choose who you love. It just happens."

"But you can pick and choose who you fuck. And if you don't fuck someone, you can't fall in love with them."

"That's not true at all. Look at Amy and Colin."

"Amy didn't love Colin -- she loved the idea of Colin. And Colin never loved Amy."

"Well, I knew that and he knew that and I guess you do too, but Amy never knew that. She thought she loved him. She still does, really."

"She loves a memory."

"So you're saying she never really loved him because they never had sex?"

"They better not have had sex."

"Bright."

"Ephram," Bright mimicked. "I don't know. Maybe that's what I'm saying. I don't know."

"You have to know."

"No, I don't. Isn't it enough right now that I'm with you?"

"So you're not going to tell me you love me until after we have sex?"

Bright stared up at the ceiling. "No. I don't know. All I know is that you have to pick one or the other. That's all I know. And I know that from now on, no matter what I do, I will always be known as the Abbott who's a homo."

"What's a homo?" Delia asked Madison. Bright and Ephram left the room as fast as possible, Madison's Death Glare Of Doom (Bright would swear under oath that it was Ephram who called it that, and if anyone said differently, they were a liar) chasing them.

They made out on Ephram's bed until Dr. Brown got home and it was time for dinner. Bright was getting more than a little frustrated by the way that Dr. Brown always managed to call up to them just as Bright got his hand down Ephram's pants.

#

Bright really believed that calling yourself bisexual was a cop-out. Unless your life was more interesting than Bright's, you could only have sex with one at a time. Or make out with one at a time. Or walk down the hallway at school with one at a time. So if you're doing stuff with a boy, you're gay. If you're doing stuff with a girl, you're straight. He didn't care what other people did or how they explained it. Right now, he was with Ephram, and therefore. Therefore.

And therefore he was gay, okay? He was gayer than gay. He was the gayest gay to ever fag out. If Ephram said, "I want to shove my cock up your ass so hard you'll be tasting it for six days," Bright would turn over and put his ass in the air. If Ephram said, "Let's move to France, buy a poodle, name it Muffy, and listen to Cher all day," Bright would do it. If Ephram wanted to hold his hand while they walked down the hallway, or fly to Hawaii and have a commitment ceremony, Bright would be so there.

So maybe Bright wasn't gay as much as he was Ephram's bitch.

It wasn't such a bad place to be really. He was warm and well-fed and got to have lengthy make out sessions at least four or five times every week.

Maybe what Bright meant was that you couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't want to have sex with. And if you're not gay, you don't want to have sex with other men. And if you don't want to have sex with men, you couldn't fall in love with a man in the same way that you could fall in love with a girl. Sex was very important.

Bright knew this, and not just because he wasn't having any. He knew this because he wanted to have it, and didn't know how. He also didn't know how to tell if Ephram wanted it. It wasn't the same as girls, and that was fucking frustrating. With a girl, when she pushed her hips against you, it meant she wanted your hand there. The harder she pushed, the more she wanted your hand, or mouth, or whatever. Bright had never moved past hand and mouth until Colin died, and that was just once, and drunken, and didn't count.

But when Ephram pushed his hips against Bright, it meant he wanted Bright to push his own hips back. And when Ephram growled deep in his throat, it didn't mean he wanted Bright to tug his nipples a little harder -- it meant he wanted Bright to bit his lip.

It was just new. And confusing. And so much to learn. Bright thought girls were hard, but Ephram... Ephram was like learning French. First all the letters, and the alphabet sounds, and then they changed when you put them together, and then they changed when you conjugated them, and then they changed when you were asking a question, and that was just like Ephram. Every time a variable changed, Bright had to relearn everything he thought he knew.

Bright sometimes thought that this must have been how Colin felt, after he woke up. Everything changed every time he met someone "new" who told him something different about his life.

Bright was still ignoring Amy. He even snuck out of the house one night and siphoned all the gas out of her Kia, and she had to walk to school, and he didn't feel bad about it at all, but Ephram made him give her a ride home. That night he and Ephram did not have a marathon makeout session all night, but sat on opposite ends of the couch and watched Velvet Goldmine.

That was possibly when Bright realized that if he and Ephram weren't together forever, he might eventually want to be with another guy someday. Maybe even one with stringy blonde hair and too much eyeliner and silver pants.

He did not tell Ephram that. He did not plan to tell anyone else that. So if anyone ever said anything, they were definitely lying.

  
  
Chapter 14: Coming Out  


Bright Abbott's coming out was a quiet thing. He was disappointed, almost. He wanted a marching band, cheerleaders who weren't wearing underwear, lemonade, fried dough with powdered sugar, and a parade. And maybe a petting zoo.

Instead, it happened at school, during lunch, and most people didn't even notice. Bright and Ephram were walking off together, and Bright was only half listening to Ephram's discussion with himself on why there wasn't much shoujo-ai. Bright figured that the fact he even knew what Ephram was talking about -- manga, of course, because what else did Ephram talk about? -- was more than enough, and his duties as a quasi-boyfriend-thing were fulfilled.

Then someone, probably that dick Walzak, yelled out, "Hey, faggots, why don't you hold hands?"

He didn't mean anything by it, Bright knew, except an insult he figured Bright wouldn't even understand. Bright got it, though. Calling a jock "faggot" was supposed to be intimidating and offensive because jocks were manly men and faggots wore spandex shorts and had HIV and were beaten to death and then their funerals were picketed by Jerry Falwell. Duh. Maybe Bright wasn't the smartest guy ever, but he wasn't stupid. What a dumbass.

Bright didn't even hesitate. He reached down and grabbed Ephram's hand, and Ephram looked up at him and did that thing with his eyebrows -- and suddenly Bright really wanted to find a secluded corner -- maybe the janitorial closet he used to pull cheerleaders into? (although he'd deny that if asked under oath, especially if his mom was there) -- and have a quick makeout session before the next bell rang.

He and Ephram walked down the hall holding hands, fingers interlaced, wrists crossed.. Some people looked, and then looked again, but most people just went about their own business, which pissed Bright off. He wanted to punch his fist into a locker and say, "Hey, I'm walking down the hallway holding my boyfriend's hand. Got a problem with that?" He wanted to show Ephram that he didn't care what the town of Everwood thought -- to make sure that Ephram realized Bright was choosing him. How could he do that if people didn't care? They were foiling Bright's plans for a grand gesture -- and, worse, they weren't even doing it on purpose! So it wasn't like he could beat anyone up and save the day.

Like. Was Bright the only one who thought it was a big deal? Where were the hate crimes? The burning crosses? Someone with a bullhorn standing on a platform making a public announcement to the world? This was it -- just an asscrack standing up at lunch and calling them a faggot, and some girls giggling at their lockers?

And Ephram just kept talking about why girls all wanted to read shonen-ai and yaoi, but he kept that little smile on his face, and his eyebrows were all funny still, and he looked the same as he had when Bright had down up at his house at seven o'clock at night and said, "I told my parents we were dating, and your dad said I could sleep here. Got any brownies?"

So maybe Ephram was a little impressed after all. Somehow Bright had to be able to translate that into getting Ephram naked. In a closet or dark corner or the bed of the truck. Or something. Right. Now.

"Bright. Bright." Ephram waved his free hand in front of Bright's face and Bright realized that not only had Ephram been talking directly to him, but that they were standing in front of Ephram's locker. "You know, you could pay attention when I'm talking about naked girls having sex with each other. It's, like, your favorite subject."

"Not quite." Bright grinned a little. He couldn't put his finger on the day that getting Ephram naked became more important than almost anything else, but it had happened and he wasn't arguing. It was something about the freckles.

"You're incredibly transparent."

"It's my superhero power."

"What do you know about superheroes?"

"Hey, I watch Smallville."

Ephram scoffed. "Crap. Absolute crap."

"Yeah, well, Clark's mom is pretty hot."

Ephram banged his head into the locker door. "That is so gross."

"Don't talk to me about gross, man. You've kissed my sister." Bright squeezed Ephram's hand a little tighter.

"Yeah, but now I'm kissing you, so the gross is gone." Ephram squeezed back. "Hey, my dad and Delia are going with Nina and Sam to some -- thing. At the diner. I wasn't really paying attention. But... Wanna come over?"

"Aren't you practicing with Will?"

"Nah, he has physical therapy this afternoon so he's going to want to go to bed early." Ephram paused and stared hard at Bright. "So let me say this again. My dad and Delia are leaving the house for an extended period of time tonight, during which I will be all alone. By. My. Self."

Oh. Um. Hm. Bright stared back at Ephram.

"Dude, I didn't think it was a difficult concept to grasp." Ephram shook his head and pulled his hand from Bright's. "If you don't want to come over, that's fine. I have plenty of anime to catch up on, and -- "

"I'll be there." Bright grabbed Ephram's hand before he could start to open his locker. "I am so there."

"Are you sure? Because, you know, you seemed a little -- unsure."

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Then I'll see you later." Ephram pulled his hand back and opened his locker, sneaking looks at Bright from under his eyelashes that Bright knew he was meant to see. He walked away backwards, watching Ephram the whole time, bumping into people who just laughed and elbowed each other.

He didn't care that there wasn't any fanfare, or a parade, or dancing girls wearing go-go boots. He was getting Ephram Brown naked in less than ten hours. Who needed a petting zoo?

  
  
Chapter 15: Ephram's Plan To Be The Best Laid.  


Ephram absolutely had a plan. His plan was this: Get the hell out of Everwood as soon as possible.

Then, when he had the chance to execute his plan, he passed it up like the stupid dork Bright Abbott always said he was.

He revised the plan: Do well in school, date Amy Abbott, go to a music conservatory (preferably in New York, but any major city on the Eastern seaboard would do), become famous.

Then Colin Hart woke up and Ephram's plan became: Stay as far away from anyone named Hart or Abbott as possible. But Colin refused to let him back away, and Ephram could kind of understand that. It was why he liked Delia so much -- she didn't expect shit from him except for him to be a good big brother. Watch baseball, eat what she baked, give good hugs, play pop songs on the piano, and be prepared to beat the shit out of boys when she hit high school. No problem -- Ephram had it covered. What did Ephram want from Colin? Not too much. So okay, it was fine that Colin wanted to hang out with him, despite Amy and Bright all up in his shit all the time.

But Colin had leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I don't remember if I used to like this..." and then kissed him, and for ten minutes Ephram's plan had been to get his mouth around Colin Hart's cock as soon as possible. Who knew? Not Ephram. Well, he knew, but he didn't realize he had even started looking at Colin in that way. Maybe he hadn't -- maybe he was there and Colin was there, and Colin's smile was gorgeous and not just a little vulnerable, and his hair was soft, and Ephram hadn't touched anyone since he kissed Amy, and that didn't even count since he hadn't really touched her with anything but his mouth.

That plan had gone up in smoke when Amy walked in on them. Not the smartest thing, to be kissing in Ephram's bedroom. Except where else would they kiss and why else would they be kissing anywhere and why didn't Amy knock? Ephram didn't even get a chance to ask what Amy had been doing there -- what had she been doing at the Brown house? -- because she ran away crying, and Colin had levered himself off Ephram -- when had Colin ended up half on top of him? -- and said, a bit sheepishly, "I guess I didn't used to like to do that."

Ephram had scoffed a bit, said it was fine, go ahead and go after her, and that was it. He had laid back on his bed, though, and thought about how maybe Colin did like to do that, and maybe that was why he was going to break up with Amy, and who would he be leaving Amy for? Probably Bright. Definitely Bright. Oh, god. Colin and Bright. Colin on his knees. Bright's fingers, those thick, clumsy, jock fingers, all twisted in Colin's hair.

Twisted in Ephram's hair.

Oh, no, strike that thought right then. Ephram's plan became: never ever think about Bright Abbott in a sexual way again. Not just because it was kind of weird, but also because that was the first time in Ephram's long history of masturbation that he'd hit his chin when he shot, and it was kind of. Well, if he'd been in a porn movie it probably would have been okay, but he was in his bedroom, by himself, with no tall, handsome, blonde football player to lick it all off his face, so it was definitely not okay.

Ephram was kind of surprised that when Colin went back to Amy, Bright stopped acting like so much of an asshole. In fact, the more Colin acted like a complete dick, the cooler Bright was. Still not too smart -- dumb as a post, in fact -- but cool. Fun, even. Witty. Could someone be witty but not smart? Because if they could, that would be Bright.

Colin's death changed the plan again: Stay away from the Abbotts, stay away from the Harts, stay away from everyone. Hide in the house when not at work, because some jock asshole is always around the corner waiting to beat Ephram's ass into the ground for having a father with ethics.

Ephram realized that even though he still wanted to hang out with Amy because she seemed cool, she really wasn't cool at all. She was a big fucking selfish loser who never thought about anyone except herself, wasn't interested in what anyone had to say, and didn't want to do anything except sit around and think about Colin.

That didn't necessarily mean that Ephram didn't want to be around her, but it totally meant that he wasn't going to go out of his way to spend time with her, or continue making an ass out of himself for her.

But Bright. Bright just kept getting cooler and Ephram's fantasies kept getting hotter, and every time Ephram caught Bright staring at him, his fantasies came a bit closer to becoming reality. Ephram wasn't sure why his gaydar had failed him -- first with Colin, and then with Bright; maybe it was being surrounded by all the hetero-normative Protestantitis -- but it quickly became clear to him that Bright was a complete fairy. Well, not complete. But Bright wanted Ephram, and Ephram knew that for sure because they spent plenty of time hanging out together, doing homework or whatever, and tension was killing him.

Plus, who fucking wanted to listen to Ephram practice scales and talk about comic books? Only someone who wanted into his pants, that was who. Someone like Mister Bright Abbott, with his droopy lower lip and his slumpy shoulders and his goddamn fucking blue jeans that rode low on his hips and bagged around his ankles and his shirts that stretched tight across his chest -- and his long legs stretched out in front of him, sunglasses on, summer sun glinting off that hair, skin taut over muscle --

Ephram had it bad and needed to be touched, so he revised his plan: stop waiting for Bright to get his shit together and say, "Let's make out," so Ephram could slide his hand over Bright's stomach and say, "I have been waiting for weeks for you to make a move," and Bright would shiver and the muscles under Ephram's hand would twitch and Bright would say, "I wasn't sure if you were into the forward type," and Ephram would tilt his head up and whisper, "I'm into your type," and then they would be kiss, and it would be so hot Ephram would explode just from the touch of Bright's tongue to him.

Amendment to that plan: Remember that first kisses are usually awkward and sloppy and noses bump. Don't be disappointed. (Although Ephram's kiss with Madison hadn't been awkward or weird at all. But there was no plan about Madison. First he hated her, then she was hot and kind of cool, and then he kissed her and she pushed him away, and it was all unscripted. He didn't like to think about it very much -- if he had planned it out in his head first, he would have realized she would have pushed him away, and he would have been on his guard to make sure he didn't kiss her. This had nothing to do with Bright, Bright's mouth, the curve of Bright's ear, or Bright's belt buckle.)

Ephram's plan for Bright ended with: As soon as possible, get your mouth onto his cock.

It did not occur to Ephram that Bright didn't realize what was happening between them. It was, in fact, kind of shocking that Bright didn't know he was gay. Or bi. Or whatever. On the other hand, Ephram figured not too many superstar sports heroes in Everwood came out, whether or not they really liked dick. Or. Whatever.

So when Bright jumped up in the middle of the cafeteria and screamed, "I am not a fucking queer!" Ephram was a little taken aback. Okay, more than a little. Plus, Bright left school, not just the cafeteria, so Ephram had to ride his bike home to catcalls and condoms being thrown at him, and jokes about anal sex.

Was sex ed in Everwood, Colorado so backwards that nobody knew gay men and girls in porn weren't the only people in the world to have anal sex? Everyone had anal sex. Well, Ephram hadn't actually had it yet, but had planned on having it as soon as possible with Bright, because if fingers -- and, once, a tongue -- felt that good, dick must feel even better. Although, Ephram did include time in his plan for a stopover at oral sex, because if there was something better than being on your knees in front of someone who was standing, leaning against a wall, or even sitting on a couch, with your hands wrapped around their thighs, their fingers fisted in your hair, so tight it almost hurt, your nose buried in pubic hair -- okay, that part wasn't so good, but the rest of it was. The pressure, the taste, the smell.

It was almost as good as playing piano. Not quite, but almost. Going down on a girl couldn't really compare.

Ephram liked girls -- he really did. But there was something about the way a guy stood, pelvis jutting out, shoulders slouching... It got him every time.

So Bright ran away, denying his undying lust for Ephram, and Ephram's plan changed from getting Bright into his bed to: Go home, curl up with Morrissey and Ian and Iggy and Brian and a bottle of ginger beer and some brownies, and think about things that might have been -- and then come up with a new plan that preferably didn't include any of the Abbotts.

And then Bright came over, and Ephram couldn't formulate a plan with Bright leaning against the doorjamb, framed by the light from the hallway. The only light in Ephram's room was the moon and the stereo and the alarm clock; Bright's face was in shadow, but he looked kind of somber and kind of annoyed and very tense, all at the same time, and Ephram's insides just twisted. All he wanted was for Bright to say, "You weren't wrong."

Instead Bright pulled the stupid shit that Ephram should have been expecting, should have planned for -- the "I'm not gay, it's just you" speech. Ephram wanted to grab Bright by the shoulders and shake him and say, "It's okay to think boys are hot. We are. We both are. I am. I am the hotness, Bright. Let's get on with it." Instead, when he grew tired of trading meaningless barbs, he rolled off his bed and crawled across the floor and demanded that Bright just make a decision one way or the other.

Play it as it lays, right? Go without a plan. That's what Ephram did, and it worked beautifully, because Bright leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Ephram's, and they stayed locked together until Ephram's dad knocked on the door.

Ephram knew his dad must have known exactly what was going on, despite Ephram's "We're studying!" or whatever, called through the door in a voice that wobbled a little no matter how hard Ephram tried to sound normal.

Bright could kiss.

Ephram's plan went back to getting his mouth on Bright's cock as soon as possible -- but that night he had a dream that changed his plan again. If Bright couldn't admit that he was gay -- although it was nice that Bright thought he was pretty, and flattering that Bright thought Ephram was hot enough to break down seventeen years of heterosexuality -- he probably wouldn't react very well if Ephram dragged him into a maintenance closet and pulled his pants down and went for it.

Ephram kind of wished his mother was still alive. Well, he always wished she was still alive, except he was starting to really appreciate Everwood. So let's say she was still alive and for some reason they had come to Everwood anyway. Not too much else would be different -- although Ephram's dad probably wouldn't be making eyes at both Bright's aunt (who Ephram thought was probably a lesbian, and his dad was just a dumbass) and Nina.

If his mother was still alive, Ephram could talk to her about this, get her to drive him into Denver (or let him take her car, now that he had a license). Get some lube, some condoms, some witch hazel. Oh yes, Ephram knew how to work the internet research. And he figured that even looking at porn counted as research. Sex is like playing the pianos in all the important ways: You need to know what you're doing, you need to have a firm touch, you need to love it, you need to have a good grasp of the mechanics, you need to have strong fingers, you need to be able to concentrate on more than one thing at a time.

He could not ask his dad for lube.

Plus his mom would know how to handle Bright's ignorance of his own sexuality, and she would have laughed at Ephram's pun about the maintenance closet.

But Ephram was on his own, so he planned very carefully, and ordered it all on the internet, just in case Bright somehow came to terms with his love of the cock and wanted to knock da boots.

Ephram never plans for his New York to show itself, but sometimes he can't help it, and all the years he spent listening to rap and hip hop and hanging out with people who weren't all upper middle class white Protestants showed through. It's creepy sometimes, that Everwood is so thoroughly homogenized. This is why in all of Ephram's plans there is that escape clause of college, back on the other side of the country, where people aren't all well-off and the same.

He stuck a Post-It note to his bedroom wall that said, "Never say or think 'knock da boots' again. Love, yourself." Then he ordered everything he wanted from the internet, charged it to his father's credit card, and camouflaged it with shampoo, soap, vitamins, and organic ginger oreo-type cookies, just because they looked interesting and Ephram liked ginger. It made the back of his throat all spicy for hours; better than sucking on cinnamon sticks or chewing gum.

And that Monday, when he saw Bright during lunch and confessed his secret plan to corrupt the minds of Everwood's youth by running away and doing everything every Everwood parent dreaded, he felt kind of relieved. Because, in a way, that was his plan. Leave Everwood. Get out. But do it in a way that didn't hurt his father or sister -- or his grandparents, because he really didn't want to live with them. Every kid left their parents' house -- their parent's house -- for college.

So Ephram got to warn Bright: Don't get too attached; I have a plan. And Bright said, "Is there room for one more?"

And Ephram's plan shifted kind of suddenly, in a very tentative way. After all, if Bright couldn't even say, "I'm gay," would he really move across the country to live with Ephram in a one bedroom apartment in the middle of the gayest neighborhood in the world -- except for maybe Chelsea. And San Francisco. And the West Village. And -- well. One of the gayest, anyway. Probably not.

But Ephram had a plan now, just in case. And it involved long hot showers together, and sweaty sex on cotton sheets in the middle of summer, and letting Bright push him against the wall of an alley somewhere, and unbuckle his belt, and unbutton his jeans, and take Ephram's entire cock into his mouth in one swallow, and maybe hum a little in the back of his throat.

Now that. That was a masterful plan.

Bright couldn't leave well enough alone, though, and had to fucking come out to his parents. What the fuck? It was cool, but come on, man. Think.

Maybe that was asking too much of him. Why did Ephram like him anyway? He wasn't very smart and he called manga comics and he made fun of Morrissey's hair -- and there was just something about him that clicked with Ephram. He felt like they were an old married couple sometimes, bickering over stupid shit and pushing each other's buttons. And every time Bright opened that mouth of his, Ephram wanted to stick his tongue in it.

That needed to be worked into a plan somewhere.

Bright needed to come out to himself. Seriously. It was time. Ephram was dying. It had been four days. Ephram began a new plan: Get Bright Hot For Boys. He pulled out his anime, tried to explain shoujo-ai and shonen-ai and yaoi. He pulled out all the movies he could find where two male characters were totally hot for each other, but Bright just wasn't getting the subtleties. Maybe that was the problem -- maybe Bright just couldn't see the subtext.

The day Bright siphoned off Amy's gas tank -- which pissed Ephram off at the same time that it amused him to no end -- Ephram pulled out the big guns. Velvet Goldmine. If Brian Fairy and Maxwell Demon didn't get Bright hot, Ephram would just give up all hope of ever getting laid. No matter how many times Bright tried to get into Ephram's pants, Ephram wasn't going to fuck a closet case. It was wearing on his self-control, though, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out.

It didn't work. His plan failed. Bright sat against the corner of the couch through the whole movie, and his only comment was, "They sure wear a lot of makeup."

And. Then. Bright. Held. His. Hand. In front of god and all the juniors and seniors. In front of Amy and the basketball team and everyone standing in the hallway, and Dr. Lentz, and. Everyone.

Bright. Held. Ephram's. Hand.

Ephram kept talking, babbling really, pretending like it didn't matter, because the minute he acknowledged what was happening, he knew Bright would drop his hand. He had no idea why Bright picked that particular moment to grab his hand -- right in the middle of Ephram's reasoning out that girls read lots of manga, and they didn't want to look at naked girls because they could just look in the mirror, and therefore there was not as much naked girl action as there should be -- but he wasn't going to argue with it.

Bright's hand was big. As big as Ephram's. And his fingers and palm were kind of hard, callused, and his palm was sweating. But that was okay, because so was Ephram.

Ephram hadn't planned on telling Bright his dad wouldn't be home that night. He didn't know if he could deal with grinding against Bright on his bed, only to have to pull away when things got too heavy. His mother would tell him, "You're too damn chivalrous, Ephram." In fact, he could hear her in his head, saying that, see her face and her pursed lips, and her eyes so much like Delia's.

Too chivalrous. But if Ephram let Bright do anything more than make out with him and press his fingers into Ephram's back, Bright might regret it. And what if he did something stupid? Not a new thing for Bright, but Ephram didn't want to be responsible for it.

But this, the hand-holding. This changed everything. This announced to the whole school that Bright was either gay, or from somewhere in Western Europe where men held hands. And since Bright had lived in Everwood his entire life, he was clearly announcing to the world that he had claim on Ephram.

And Ephram liked the sound of that.

So he made a plan, quick as he could, and invited Bright over to his house, and it took a minute for it to sink into Bright's thick head that they'd be absolutely alone.

Ephram didn't figure this was call for the condoms, but definitely the lube. He was getting a finger up Bright's ass if he had to handcuff him to something. Which wasn't a bad idea, but should be saved for later. Ephram filed it away in his spank bank and waited for Bright's reply.

"I am so there."

One chance to get out of it: "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

And then Bright walked away, backwards, watching Ephram. Ephram had the absurd thought that they'd come full circle -- Bright was back to watching him -- but this time around, Bright wouldn't have to pretend he was making fun of Ephram to stare at him, and Ephram wouldn't have to pretend he was making mean faces at Bright to stare at him, and they could just... Well, hopefully not walk down the hallway holding hands all the time, because that was kind of lame. But make out in the maintenance closet and possible move forward to the blow job part? Definitely.

  
  
Chapter 16: The Best Laid Plans of Ephram Brown  


Ephram Brown did, in fact, have a plan for Bright Abbott. At first, it hovered somewhere between "kill him a lot" and "ignore him as much as possible." But, as with so many of Ephram's plans, he'd had to remake it over and over and then finally discard it.

His new plan for Bright included an empty house and a tube of lube. And a bed. Or possibly an armchair. Not a couch, though, because the night Bright had slept over, he'd complained loudly about how small the couch was the next day. That was unsurprising -- what was surprising was that Ephram's dad, that night after dinner, enlisted Ephram to help him move the boxes from the spare room into the attic, which was really nothing more than a crawl space; the day after that, Andy ordered a bed for that room. After frowning through a catalogue, and then frowning a bit at Ephram, Andy wrote out an order for a twin bed.

Madison, observing the whole thing while finishing preparations for dinner, crossed it out and made it a full. "You really think," she said scathingly, "that Bright Abbott, who is taller than your son by almost three inches, and has shoulders broader than yours, would fit onto a twin bed?"

"Madison, I don't think you're really quite aware of the situ --"

"Andy," replied Madison in the same tone, "if Bright and Ephram are going to have sex on a bed, they are going to do it whether the bed is a full, or a twin, or a king, or not a bed at all and really a floor, or a couch, or a kitchen table."

Ephram's face flamed, but he was pleased to note that his father's did too. Ephram was never going to look at the kitchen table the same way, until, possibly, he could actually get Bright to fuck him on it.

Madison continued with, "And, anyway, I'm sure that they would be having sex on Ephram's bed, since --"

"Okay, well, as great as this conversation is, I think I'm going to go back up to my room and think about how much I really don't want my sister's babysitter and my father talking about my non-existent sex life." Ephram smiled the fakest smile he could and took off before the conversation got any weirder. He was pretty sure Madison had been about to talk about lube and condoms and maybe even sex toys. You never knew with her.

But weeks went by and Bright didn't stay over again, because his mom called Ephram's dad and said that Bright should come home. Bright wasn't too surprised, but Ephram was. He was expecting Bright to have to stay with them for more than one day, to live with them for a few months maybe, so that he and Ephram could sniff at each other and... you know. Get used to each others' scents, and steal kisses in the kitchen, and Ephram could watch him rub his chest sleepily in the hallway early on Sunday mornings on his way to the shower.

Ephram refused to think about how entirely domestic and hetero that scene sounded. On the other hand, it wasn't like gay men weren't ever allowed to want stability or someone to drink coffee with in the mornings (although Bright drank sugar and cream that only vaguely resembled the strong black coffee Ephram drank -- resembled in that it was called the same thing and that was about it). If Ephram could want to sit around and eat eggs with a girl, why couldn't he want to do that with Bright? It wasn't like there was a code of honor or something -- and there wasn't a signal, like the way there was when you went to a gay bar and put a navy blue bandana in your left back pocket and it meant you liked to give head. Or was that light blue? Robin's egg? Whatever, it didn't matter -- the point was that there wasn't a color to denote that it was your first time at a gay bar and you didn't know what you wanted, and there wasn't, like, a tie you could wear to let the guy you were interested in know you wanted more than a one night stand.

And he'd never wanted to sit around and read the paper while some girl puttered and did the crossword. He'd never wanted to wake up to a girl's face. Not even Amy.

Ephram had no idea what it meant, but every time he saw Bright he wanted to nip that dent in the middle of his lower lip, so he figured it was worth finding out.

So Ephram put a lot of time into his plans for the night he called Get Into Bright's Ass. Ephram didn't actually know that he really and truly wanted to put a finger, or something else, into Bright's ass. But it was a nice ass, and he wanted to squeeze it, and he wanted to bite it, definitely, and maybe leave teeth prints -- and he'd do it on his way around to Bright's cock, which he also wanted to bite. Leave his mark.

Bright had never had a blow job like the one Ephram was going to give him. Ephram had only given head twice before, and it wasn't the best thing ever, but he knew that Bright would be different, because this time it wasn't just sex because sex was fun -- this time it was sex because he wanted Bright. He wanted everything about Bright, and he wanted to touch Bright, and it wasn't only about dick and getting off -- it was about lame jokes and blonde curls and a complete lack of undertanding of the word bisexual, and the patience with which he explained football to Ephram. And Ephram's desire to understand football so they could watch it together. And the way that sometimes Bright would come to Will Cleveland's house and pick up Les Paul's guitar like he didn't care who it used to belong to and massacre old Tom Petty Songs.

It sounded stupid to Ephram, that he wanted to have sex with Bright because Bright played guitar poorly and listened to Tom Petty and pretended to care about manga, but Ephram had done way less fun things for even worse reasons, so he had a plan.

Ephram was pretty sure his father had noticed the ordering of lube and condoms, despite his mixing them in with other stuff. It was the cookies that gave him away, Ephram figured, because his father pointed out one evening that the Ginger-Os could be had at Everwood's shockingly hip grocery store. Or maybe it was the blush that let Ephram's dad know that Ephram's sudden desire for tea tree oil shampoo and ginger cookies wasn't... kosher. That was something his mom would have said, and then giggled at.

And, oh, Ephram wished she was around. Not, like, at that minute, because he was pulling on a shirt and getting ready to answer the door, but because he would have liked to talk with her and maybe gotten her take on it all. Reading about everything was different from doing it, and Everwood was so fucked up anyway; he could have used another cosmopolitan perspective. Someone who wasn't Madison, anyway; the more he got to know her, the more he hated just how much like him she was. Or, rather, to be brutally honest... She was like who his mom probably was when his mom was twenty.

And when Ephram had realized that, everything clicked into place, and he was no longer confused about why his parents got together. If Ephram had to live with himself every day, he probably would kill himself. But living with someone like his dad or Delia? No sweat.

Ephram should have known that Bright would do it again, just render all his planning completely obsolete. Ephram had spent a lot of time picking out the right long-sleeved black shirt, and the right black T-shirt to wear over it (the one with no screen printing, he finally decided), and the right pair of dirt-rinsed jeans (the ones with the button fly and the boot-legs), the studded belt, because he'd seen Bright eyeing it (and once, Ephram was pretty sure, Bright had groaned "that damn belt" or something, before they started kissing), and his sneakers from New York, the last pair he bought there, the black with the silver S on the sides. Socks? No socks? He went with no socks, because they'd leave marks on his legs. Although... wearing socks would keep the sneakers from making his feet smell.

Okay, bare feet.

He'd already cleaned himself up, taken a shower, used the witch hazel, washed off. He was fucking prepped and ready to go and already half-hard, just thinking about Bright's tongue where his own fingers had been.

He was going to answer the door and Bright would come inside, and Ephram would push him up against the front door once it was closed and bit that goddamn dent in his lower lip, and Bright's mouth would curve like it did when he thought he was saying something clever and charming, and he'd kiss Ephram back.

Ephram would pull him up the stairs, a hand fisted in Bright's shirt, and would lock his bedroom door even though there was no one home, because what if they were earlier than expected? Plus, right there by Ephram's bed was the shoebox with all the mix tapes from friends back in New York, the tube of lube and lots of condoms mixed in.

Well, they weren't going to be using the condoms for blow jobs, no matter about those lame safe sex lectures from Ephram's dad, because condoms tasted bad. Ephram was clean and he figured Bright was too, and if they weren't, well... Ephram would cross that bridge when they came to it. Dr. Abbott was pretty cool -- Linda, not Bright's dad -- and Ephram bet they could go to her with whatever problems they had.

Bright would lay on Ephram's bed on his side, leaning on an elbow, one leg bent up and the other straight. On his way to the bed Ephram would hit his stereo and it would be Patti Smith -- no, that was probably gayer than Bright was willing to accept. Maybe it would -- oh yes. It would be Al Di Meola, the newish album with the naked girl on the cover, because it was sexy and fast and slow, and there was guitar and piano -- and Ephram would kneel next to the bed and run his hands up under Bright's shirt. An orange shirt, maybe, because Bright looked good in orange. Ephram would scratch at his stomach and Bright would smile a little, and Ephram would unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper, and pull out Bright's cock. And it would be hard, and look so good, and Ephram would just open his mouth up and take it inside as far as it would go, and open the lube one handed, and slick a finger up -- he practiced this when the lube arrived -- and rub right under Bright's balls.

And Bright would fall onto his back, and Ephram would follow, crouched over him, one hand pulling, long, smooth strokes up over the head, then all the way down so he could fit his mouth over as much as he could take in, and then hand up again so that only the very tip of his tongue was touching the very tip of Bright's cock, and then do it all over again -- and the other hand would be rubbing and tracing, and Ephram would slide his middle finger in, wrist facing the ceiling, and Bright would be so goddamn tight Ephram would almost come in his pants at the thought of one day getting his dick in there, and he would wriggle his finger around, and try to find Bright's prostate.

And Bright would be thrusting his hips and moaning, and trying to push his pants off and spread his legs more, and fisting his fingers in Ephram's hair and he'd choke out, "JesusgodEphramchristfuck," and Ephram would rub his finger a little harder against Bright's prostate and he'd swallow all of Bright's come -- and Bright would groan deep in his chest and his hands would fall off Ephram's head and he'd relax onto the bed.

And Ephram would crawl up his body and kneel next to him and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him -- and just kiss him until the world ended.

But no, Bright Abbott could never just play by the rules, could he? He always had to be going off and doing his own thing -- and for some reason Ephram had the idea that Bright was never like this until Colin died. Or maybe it was when Colin came back to life; Bright told him once that when Colin woke up it was like Bright suddenly realized that his life just wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Ephram figured it was like Bright realized he was alive -- not in a lame Touched by an Angel way, but in a coming-to-consciousness, realizing your sentience kind of way. Like. Bright encountered existential angst and, like everyone else who suddenly tripped over their perfect moment of understanding while they did something mundane, Bright was confused.

When Bright rang the bell and walked through the door, Ephram was all prepared to enact his plan. He closed the door and turned to Bright and then Bright slammed him up against the door, and was biting at his top lip, and his jaw and his neck and his shirt was too tight and Bright had shed his jacket and was wearing an orange T-shirt, and he was running his hands over Ephram's belt and then Ephram's back, and Ephram was drowning in Bright's mouth and tongue and teeth, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

Bright pulled away, panting, and said, "I've never done this before, so let me know if I do it wrong."

Ephram was panting too, and couldn't get any words out, because Bright was on his knees. Bright was on his knees! And unbuckling Ephram's belt, and grinning and saying, "I love this fucking belt. You have to wear it every day --" and then unbuttoning all the buttons on Ephram's pants and tugging then down just enough and, "Commando. Day-aaam," just like he would for some hot girl's ass on the street.

And he looked up at Ephram who could barely see because it was too hot in the house and he was wearing two shirts and was sweating and his eyes were tearing from the drops of sweat that kept falling in them, and he smiled again, the really charming smile that twisted Ephram's guts into knots when he smiled it at the girls who clustered in the hallway and giggled when Bright walked by, even though he wasn't one of the coveted jocks anymore. Ephram always scowled at them -- the "He's mine" scowl; the "Don't even think about touching him" scowl; the "GODDAMNIT HE'S HOLDING MY HAND NOT YOURS!" scowl.

Ephram was going to remember that smile for the rest of his life, because a guy always remembered what happened to him the first time he was deep-throated. Talk about talent, Bright was amazing. He just opened his mouth and went... well, down. And down. And then his tongue was licking Ephram's balls, and his hand was holding Ephram's hip, and Ephram was pulling on his hair, and Ephram was the one saying, "Ohgodohchristohfuckinghellohgod," and then Bright choked and came up for air and said, "That wasn't so hard," and went back down and Ephram's knees went all watery because Bright's throat was so fucking hot and so fucking wet and was closing in on the head of his cock, and then up for air again, and then back down, and Ephram's head hit the door so hard, and there's no way he would be able to stay standing, except Bright was leaning against him and pushing him against the door so there was no place to go.

And breathe, remember to breathe, in and out, hot and wet, in and out, hot and wet, in and out, tongue, oh god, teeth, ouch, oh god, hot, and then Bright's finger rubbing around his ass and that was it, Ephram was a goner, and he couldn't even choke out a warning to Bright because he still wasn't breathing, just seeing stars and feeling Bright's fingers and tongue and throat--

Bright leaned back and Ephram slid to the floor. "That didn't take as long as I thought it would," said Bright conversationally. Ephram didn't move, didn't reply, was still gasping for air. He felt Bright lean in toward him, and then Bright nipped his top lip again, and he opened, and Bright kissed him, and there it was, a salty gingery taste on Bright's tongue, not just the cola-chocolate-cold milk taste there usually was. Ephram sucked on Bright's tongue, breathing through his nose, still not saying anything.

"So." Bright pulled away. Ephram opened his eyes to Bright's; serious, worried. Uh-oh. Ephram looked away, lifted his hips to pull his jeans up, buttoned them.

"So." He pulled his knees up, kind of leaned them a little against Bright's side.

"Was that, like. Good?" asked Bright. "I mean. I'm just getting used to this gay thing. I probably need practice."

Oh, that was it? Jesus, Bright, have some self-confidence. Ephram grinned. "I couldn't have planned it any better."

  



End file.
